The Shinigami Wager
by Grace Harney
Summary: Three shinigami make a bet. Their 'horses' live in Gotham City. One is a devout Christian. Another is a teen ready to kill his classmates. The third is a Joker fan, knows Batman's true identity and holds him hostage. Batman needs help from Neito - Near
1. Prologue: The Wager

**Hi everyone! I didn't think I'd be back with a story so quickly, but some tales just demand to be written. This is my first crossover ever. For those of you who have only watched **_**The Dark Knight **_**(I'm guessing everyone) I'll explain a little bit about **_**Death Note**_**. It's really very simple. Shinigami are what are known in Japanese mythology as death gods, sort of like the Grim Reaper. In the series, every shinigami has his or her own personal Death Note. They either kill people at their destined time of death by writing their name in the Death Note, or kill them ahead of time, so that the shinigami obtain the remaining lifespan of the humans to add to their own lifespan. This way, they can live forever. **

**If a shinigami kills a human to extend the life of another human, the shinigami dies. **

**If a human writes the name of someone in a Death Note, that person will die. For the Death Note to work, the person doing the killing must know how the victim looks and his or her real name. **

**It's pretty basic. **

**If you watch the series you'll really fall in love with it. It's dark and intelligent and really thought-provoking. **

**Thanks once again to J-Horror Girl for telling me about Death Note. I wouldn't have come up with this idea if she hadn't told me about it. **

* * *

_**Prologue - The Wager**_

_The dark land rolled with swirling mist and gray fog. The earth shifted as silent earthquakes moved the plains. Jagged mountains stabbed the black skies as they bled silent tears. Shadows loomed everywhere as a eclipsed moon shone its weak light down on the realm of the shinigami._

_At the top of one precipice, around a blue fire, sat three shinigami._

_"Okay. I found it. I have a second Death Note. I had to wait thirty-seven days for him to fall asleep. No good, lazy lout. Now what's all the fuss about?" This shinigami was bored and wanted to go back down to the land. This precipice was cold and windy and the fire was almost going out. He was a sickly green color with torn gray rags and two antennas in place of hair. His body was segmented like a centipede, except for his head which looked like a praying mantis. He had wings like a dragonfly and legs like a grasshopper. But his hands were like a thin man's, long and slender. Sharp red nails scratched his outer shell whenever he was molting. He flapped his wings to keep from being blown off the precipice. His name was Toru._

_"Welcome, Toru," said Izanami gracefully. She was warming her bony hands at the fire. She held two Death Notes to her chest. "I'm glad you could come join us. Tetsuo has been here for quite some time. Isn't that right?"_

_"Yes, that's right," Tetsuo replied seriously. He was also holding two Death Notes. He looked at Izanami. She was always elegant, since she wore those long wispy robes of black. They fluttered in the slightest breeze, and now they whipped around her bony body. She wore small skulls around her neck, skulls of some primate perhaps. Around her wrists were serrated teeth, perhaps from sharks. She glanced at Toru with big, blue eyes. They looked like sapphires in water. "Where is your other Death Note?" _

_Toru slid two out from under his ragged, dark green robes, and he looked neither elegant nor graceful. He looked clumsy, like a drunken insect. He shuffled on his long, powerful grasshopper legs. "I have them both here. I wonder how long he'll be sleeping. He's not going to be happy when he finds out it's missing." _

_"He won't find out," Izanami replied evenly. "This is only going to last ninety days." She looked at Tetsuo. He sat quietly, staring into the fire. His long white hair fluttered in the breeze, wrapping around his arms and neck. His skin was a deathly pale blue, and he had bones protruding out over his spine, elbows and knees. His body was wrapped with black bandages. His lips were full, like a human's, but were black and shiny. His long, narrow eyes were circled with black ink and they shone a greenish-blue in the fire. "Are you afraid you might end up like Hideki?" She asked, her tone a little sly. _

_"Who is Hideki?" Toru interrupted._

_Tetsuo didn't answer, but instead looked down at the Death Note that was not his own. It was old and worn, and had not been used for many, many years._

_Izanami smiled slightly. Tetsuo looked up. "Don't."_

_"Hideki is-was, a friend of Tetsuo."_

_"Izanami, enough."_

_She pressed on. "He fell in love with a human. That's his Death Note."_

_"Oooh," Toru drawled. Then he blinked his large, vacant eyes. "How foolish."_

_Tetsuo sighed. "He was a good friend."_

_"If you're afraid of falling in love with a human, Tetsuo, you may leave now. I designed this wager for bettors who are not so forlorn as you."_

_"I have nowhere else to go." Tetsuo replied flatly. _

_"Me either," Toru replied with a raspy laugh. "So what's this wager you speak of?"_

_"Well, I have chosen one city in the human world. Have you heard of Ryuk?"_

_Toru shook his head. Tetsuo did not reply._

_"Ryuk dropped a Death Note in a land called Japan, in the human world. This was some years ago. Anyway, he gave me the idea for this wager, but I didn't want to use Japan again. People probably still remember everything that happened. That would ruin the fun right away."_

_Toru nodded and Tetsuo turned to look at her as she talked. She had red, shiny lips, and she wet them before talking again. She waved her hand over the blue flames, and they cooled and turned into a smooth, glass orb. As she talked, images appeared in the orb. "I chose this place. It's called, Gotham City, and it's on the other side of the world from Japan, in a land called America. The rules of the wager are quite simple, I think. Each of us picks one person in Gotham City who will find our spare Death Notes. And well, that's the part of the wager where we really have the control. After that, it's all just chance. See, whoever picks the human that kills the most people in ninety days, wins one hundred years from each of the losers. That's two hundred years more of life for the winner. So when you pick your human, make sure you pick someone you know is going to kill people."_

_Toru and Tetsuo thought about the wager for a few moments. "Well, that sounds interesting," Toru remarked at last. "Earn two hundred years of life and have fun doing it."_

_"Exactly," Izanami smiled. "Would you like to play, Tetsuo?"_

_"All this just to swap a few years of life?"_

_"Oh, come on, don't spoil it," Toru scoffed. _

_"Just seems pointless to me."_

_Izanami put a hand on Tetsuo's leg. "It's just for fun, Tetsuo. They're just humans. They all die anyway."_

_"Well, I suppose that's true."_

_"And you've already waited here for so many days. Do you want to have waited all that time only to turn away at the moment when the wager is going to begin?"_

_"I suppose not. I just don't see the point, that's all."_

_"It's for fun. Do you even know what that is?" Toru demanded. "Let's get on with it. I want to win!"_

_"Okay. Let's begin. First, some basic rules. We each pick only one human. If that human forfeits the ownership of the Death Note _before _killing anyone, you may pick another human. But if the human you pick forfeits ownership _after _killing someone, then that is the number of people your human has killed. You may not pick another. _

_"Once the human has the Death Note, you may not use that Death Note to kill anyone. _

_"The wager will go on for ninety days. At the end of ninety days, who ever picked the human that killed the most people, wins the bet. _

_"All our laws are standing orders of course. No influencing the human either to kill or not to kill another human. No sexual relations with the human. Those are all the rules for this wager that I can think of right now. If something happens later on that we didn't foresee, we will decide on a rule at that time. Is everyone agreed?"_

_"Yes!" Toru barked and laughed, his voice echoing away._

_Tetsuo nodded. _

_Izanami smiled widely, showing her sharp white teeth. Tetsuo noticed they looked just like the teeth she wore around her wrists. "Let's go to the desert and choose." She looked at the glass orb that had once been the blue flame. "Gotham City looks beautiful, like jewels in the night."_


	2. Toru Goes First

**Just a little bit about how I'm writing this story. Everything that happens in the shinigami world is going to be in Italics. In the human world, the font is going to be normal, but thoughts are going to be in Italics. If there is anything in Bold font, that means it is written in or on the Death Note. In this chapter I go over a few of the rules regarding the Death Note. It's pretty similar to what happens in the actual series, so that later on, you're not lost in this fanfic if you haven't watched **_**Death Note**_**. The rules are not word for word because remember, if you've watched **_**DeathNote**_** you'll know that the character Ryuk wrote those rules in there himself. So a different shinigami is going to word the rules differently. The only rule I deliberately took word for word is the first one because it's already so short. **

* * *

_**Chapter 1 - Toru Goes First**_

The Shinigami Realm: 

Two days before Day 1 of the bet.

_They left the moving earth and the jagged mountains for the rolling dunes of the desert. The desert was a vast expanse of dry sand, swirling on the breeze, stinging the eyes of the travelling shinigami. Dry, bleached bones protruded from the ground like the ribs of great animals, such as whales or elephants. _

_As they drew deeper into the desert, large holes began to appear on the surface. They were portals for viewing the human world. Deeper in the desert was an even larger portal, and that one would allow shinigami to enter the human world. _

_The three shinigami stopped at a viewing portal and seated themselves around. The portal looked like a pool of water with swirling white mist inside. _

_Izanami brushed aside her fluttering robes and waved her bony hand over the portal. "Who would like to go first?"_

_"I'll go," Toru volunteered. He crouched down on his insect legs and peered into the portal. "It is not night time anymore."_

_Tetsuo leaned in as well, to get a closer look. "There are so many humans in Gotham City."_

_All of them nodded in agreement. _

_While Toru searched the city, the portal's view raced through one street, weaving between cars and then swerved into another. Tetsuo and Izanami watched patiently. _

_"I just thought of something, Izanami," Toru said as he continued to watch for a human he preferred would find his spare Death Note. _

_She blinked her blue eyes at him. "Yes?"_

_"Should we tell the humans about the wager?" _

_She considered for a moment. "Well, since the humans we are going to pick have no stakes in the wager, they might be insulted if they discovered we were betting on their actions. So, no. We will not tell the humans about the wager. Does everyone agree?"_

_Toru shrugged awkwardly and Tetsuo nodded seriously after a moment. _

_"Ryuk told me that when he was in the human world, the two humans who had Death Notes contacted each other. Even if that happens with us, we will still not tell them of the wager. All right?"_

_"What if a human demands to know why we dropped the Death Notes in the human world?" Tetsuo asked. _

_Izanami had a head of glossy black tendrils that constantly flowed and moved. Now she pulled one tendril as she thought of his question. "Tell the human it was an accident."_

_"Three identical accidents? In one city? The chances are quite slim, Izanami."_

_"Just tell the human that you know nothing of the other Death Notes, and that you're simply in the human world to retrieve yours." Her voice was a little impatient. _

_"I think I found my human," Toru said finally, his face devoid of emotion, but his voice interested and curious. _

_Izanami and Tetsuo looked down into the portal. _

_"What's he doing?" Tetsuo asked._

_"Are those weapons?" Toru questioned._

_"I believe those are weapons of the human world," Izanami replied unsurely._

_"Do you think he is already going to kill someone?" Tetsuo asked, looking at the other two shinigami. _

_"I think I'm going to win this bet," Toru laughed. "It's one of your turns to choose now."_

* * *

Gotham City:

Day 1

_It's going to be easy. Calm the fuck down. It'll be easy. _

I sat in the huge school parking lot, looking out the driver side window. No time for hesitation. Well, actually there was. I really shouldn't have come this early. I had too much time to think about what I was going to do. My nerves were shot and I was trembling all over. I had the backpack already on my shoulders, I was ready to go. But it wasn't time yet. I looked at my digital watch. T minus twenty-one minutes. The school's security guards would shut the metal detectors off soon. Then I would go in and...

I shut my eyes at the thought. My insides lurched everytime I thought about the act.

_Just take the gun and bang. Bang. Bang. Bang._

I looked in the sideview mirror at my face. My brown hair looked darker and greasier than usual. Probably because I was sweating so much. And probably because I was so pale.

_Yeah, I'm terrified. _

_But I'm excited too._

I had no choice. I had to do it. They'd backed me into a corner more than once. Defenseless, broken, damaged forever.

But they didn't know. They didn't know that one day people backed into the corner would snap. They'd lose it and it would be more formidable than anything they'd ever imagined.

Judgment.

Justice.

Vengeance.

I looked at my watch again. _T minus nineteen minutes._

I looked in the rearview mirror. There was no movement in the whole parking lot. No one knew I was here. I was not missed. No one cared. No one cared that I was missing. I would already be marked late by now. My cell phone didn't ring. My mother wasn't wondering if I was all right. My father wasn't wondering where I was. I didn't have a friend wondering why I was late for class.

I was never late. I was never missing.

Until today. And no one cared.

But they _will _care today. They will. They'll see me. They'll notice me. They'll scream and run. And then they'll die.

_T-minus sixteen minutes._

I waited. I breathed deeply, forcing myself to relax. I had to relax. I couldn't be jumpy. I needed to be calm. My thoughts had to be clear, unaffected by what was going to be around me. There was going to be death and blood and horror. I knew it was going to be there. I couldn't allow that to stop me. I had to do what had I woken up to do this morning.

I had to do what I had been preparing to do. For months. It took months to get everything ready. All the gun parts had to be bought separately. They had to be shipping to different places. I had to document what I was doing so that when I was finished people would find it. I filmed myself, I wrote in journals, I kept receipts and paperwork. I took photos.

In life no one knew me.

But in death I'd be a legacy.

_T-minus twelve-_

I gasped when I heard a _thunk_ on the roof of my car. My heart raced in my chest, my whole body pounding from the movement. For a moment I was surprised, but I immediately decided it must be a bird or something.

But that couldn't be it. It wasn't moving anymore. Birds usually walked around a little bit and then flew off again. I would be hearing more noise. I should have if it was a bird.

Maybe a bird dropped dead on my car. Who knows? In mid-flight just...dead.

I waited. Stillness. No sound at all. _T minus ten minutes._

I looked around the parking lot. Not one soul.

I could risk a quick peek at the roof, right?

I looked around again.

_T minus eight minutes._

Fuck, I didn't have much time left. There was really no time for hesitation or second guessing. I opened the door, reached up blindly and felt the object.

A book?

I quickly pulled it into the car and shut my door with a light slam. Hopefully no one was around to hear it.

_T minus seven minutes. Shit. What the hell is this thing? _

**Death Note**. _Huh?_

It was a black, soft-cover, notebook. I looked on the back. Nothing. The words were scrawled on the front in handwriting. Crooked, clumsy letters. Like a little kid wrote it.

I looked around again. Who threw this thing? Was someone watching me? **Death Note**. Was it a note to tell me to kill myself?

I opened it up, only to discover writing in a different language on the white pages. But wait. There was white writing on the inside of the cover. It was in English.

**How to use a Death Note.**

**The human whose name is written in this note shall die.**

It was the same handwriting at the words on the front.

_T minus five minutes._

_Can my work wait just one day?_

I'd already waited for so many months. What's one more day?

I flipped the pages and all the words in it were in another language.

Down to the last scribbles, none of it was in English, except the inside of the cover. I turned back to it.

**The Death Note will only work if the person doing the writing has the real name and image of the victim's face in mind. Otherwise, the person will not die. This is to avoid the deaths of people that share the same name.**

_T minus three minutes._

I could wait just one more day.

I shrugged of my heavy backpack and set it on the passenger seat. I was also wearing a vest that contained ammunition for my guns. I set all of it down on the floor of the car and hid it with the backpack on top. I didn't even have any school notebooks or texts.

I was wearing all black and a camouflage cap. I took it off and threw it in the passenger seat.

What were the chances that I'd be getting ready to kill a bunch of people and a murder tool just happened to fall to me? This wasn't a coincidence.

I untucked my T-shirt and smoothed it down over my black jeans. I untucked the legs of the pants from my boots and pulled them down over the shoes.

_T minus one minute._

As I ran towards the building, I felt a sudden, incredulous thought. _This can't be real!_

When has writing a person's name in a book ever killed them?

_What about magic? What about voodoo? What about spells and incantations? What about potions and charms and amulets and curses? Aren't those all the same thing? _

I ran into the building, panting past the bored security guards and sliding on the glossy tile floors.

I had to run up a flight of stairs to get to my homeroom. I was already so late. Almost thirty minutes late for my first period class.

As I leapt up onto the stairs landing on the second floor, I slowed to a brisk walk and saw that my classroom door was open. Before walking in, I hesitated. I was going to get laughed at, I knew it.

I stepped into the doorway slowly, breathing a little hard from running all the way. The teacher was at the whiteboard, scribbling some stuff down. He looked over lazily and said, "Nice of you to join us, Mr. Nelson. Have a seat."

A low ripple of giggles spread through the room. I felt my face turning hot from embarrassment as I made my way to the back of the room.

And...I was so flustered that I didn't even notice his foot when he stuck it out to trip me.

If it wasn't for the two desks on either side of me, I would have fallen on my face. But luckily, I caught onto both sides and just stumbled instead. The people near me laughed a little louder.

I had dropped the Death Note, but no one seemed to notice. It had falled face down and looked like a harmless notebook.

"Sorry 'bout that, man," he replied, his tone telling me he was not at all anywhere in the vicinity of being sorry.

"Settle down, that's enough!" The teacher barked.

I did and said nothing, except snatch up the notebook and sink into my seat. It was at the very back, against the wall.

I palmed sweat away from my forehead.

_I need a pen. Where's a pen when I fucking need it?_

I patted down my pockets and found nothing. Well, except for a pocket knife I had brought in. I forgot to take that out earlier. It was a good thing I'd waited until T minus one to go inside. Otherwise...the metal detectors would have picked it up.

There was a guy next to me, who wasn't with the group of kids who had laughed when I tripped. He was usually pretty aloof and indifferent to anything that went on. Even when he saw that I didn't have a pen, he didn't offer me one. Not until I asked with a gesture. He shrugged and handed me one.

I opened up the Death Note with my left hand, carefully hiding the words **Death Note** on the cover.

I read the next few instructions.

**If only the person's name is written in the Death Note, they will die in forty seconds of a heart attack. **

**If you want them to die a particular way, you have to write the cause of death within forty seconds of writing their name.**

**Any details of the death have to be written within six minutes and forty seconds of writing the victim's name. **

I looked at my watch. _8:14:37 AM_

I glanced at the guy who had tripped me. He was not paying attention to me anymore, but was taking notes.

I opened the notebook and looked at the board, for a while, reluctant to write anything in there.

The guy who had tripped me was actually one of the people I knew I was going to kill. He was already a marked man.

I glanced at my watch again. _8:17:12 AM_

I wrote his name slowly in the Death Note. **Frankie Pierce. **

I looked at my watch again. _8:17:29 AM_

I waited thirty seconds, continuously watching the board and pretending to make notes. No one was paying any attention to the fact that I wasn't actually writing anything down.

_8:18:00 AM_

Nine seconds left.

Eight...Seven...Six...Five...Four...Three...Two...One...

I looked up at Frankie. He had stopped writing.

I continued to stare as he twitched suddenly and uttered a loud groan and doubled over. The teacher stopped writing and turned around, an eyebrow raised in question. The rest of the class turned to look too. Frankie groaned again, louder this time, and collapsed from the chair, his hand clutching his chest.

"Oh my God," someone murmured in shock. The teacher dropped the whiteboard marker and ran over and students jumped out of their seats and came in for a closer look.

"Quick! Someone call nine-one-one!" The teacher ordered as several students whipped out cell phones and punched in the digits. Some students ran out of the room to get the school nurse. Another student pressed an intercom in the classroom and called the office's attention.

I sat rooted in my seat, and the guy next to me craned his neck slightly for a view. He was as relaxed as ever.

The teacher lifted Frankie up and another couple of students helped him back into his seat. He slumped forward, head bumping his desk. The teacher leaned his head back and some people shuddered and recoiled at the expression on his face. The teacher checked his pulse. He looked ill. I knew what he was thinking. He couldn't bring himself to say it. Not in front of a bunch of teenagers. Not in a classroom full of young students.

_He's dead._


	3. The Exhibit

_**Chapter 2 - The Exhibit**_

Gotham City

Two days before Day 1 of the wager.

Karunanedi Jewelry Exhibit, Downtown Gotham.

I took a deep breath to calm myself. _You look like a million bucks. Relax._

I wasn't planning on wearing any of Mr. Karunanedi's jewelry tonight, but when his wife insisted that I do, I couldn't decline for too long. The designs were intricate and the gold was much brighter than that of any jewelry I'd ever seen. His wife told me the gold went beautifully with my sari. That was a gift from her, and for the life of me I would never learn how to wear it. She dressed me up in it, swathing the several feet long material around my hips and then doing some tricky folding before dropping the end of it over my shoulder. It was a bright red and orange with gold threading. She went all out with the jewelry too. I insisted I wasn't used to wearing so much, but she just piled it all on. Earrings, necklaces, bangles, and even a head-dress. I was probably wearing well over a pound's worth of gold. I had twisted and turned in front of the mirror for the longest time, thinking how elegant I looked. Okay, I was being vain. But who doesn't want to look like royalty? It wasn't every night I had the privelege of organizing such a high-class event.

A friend from this party had seen my organizing abilities at a different party and personally requested that I organize this event too. So here I was. I was getting ready to introduce the designer, Ramesh Karunanedi, a rather shy, soft-spoken man. He admitted he wasn't comfortable with the attention he was receiving, but if you're a designer, you have to promote your creations.

People stood around in the large hall, spread liberally out among the many dinner tables topped with rich china and silverware. The whole room was designed to compliment the gold exhibit at the front of the hall, right at the base of the stage. Above the stage hung flattering, highly defined photos of his most prized designs. Rubies, emeralds, sapphires, diamonds, and of course, gold, bangles, and necklaces with intricate curls and fragile patterns.

The walls were curtained with deep beige and gold trim. The floor was a rich red carpet over glossy, tan marble tiles.

Half the people there were Indian, all decked out in the Indian glamor of brightly colored saris and gold jewelry.

I had a short speech prepared, and then while I was standing there, breathing in and out to calm my nerves, I remembered.

_Oh no._

"Madhuri," I hissed at the designer's wife. "Yes, honey?" She asked in a gentle voice, her accent crisp and Indian.

"I forgot my speech. I'll be right back."

"You'll do fine, don't worry."

"No, please. I'll freeze up there. I really need them. I'll be right back. Two minutes."

I hiked up the sari a little and walked as quickly as I could to the dressing rooms behind the stage.

I searched around a little bit longer than I expected. I found the index cards I'd written on sticking out of my purse. I snatched them up and rushed back. It was a lot harder to run with a sari on and all that jewelry. I was already exhausted.

_How do these women do it?_

As I drew nearer to the hall, I could hear the chatter growing louder and louder. Then I saw the doorway, which was really an archway, because it had no door. As I was about to go through, I accidentally dropped my cards. In my rush to get out there, I bumped into the side of the archway.

I gave a groan and bent down to pick up the cards. "Here let me help you," said a voice. I wasn't even looking. I had my right side turned to the voice. I was already picking up the last one with my left hand. "It's okay, I-"

Then I don't know what happened. An earth shattering _BOOM_ sounded all around me, and I couldn't feel much of anything. I could see everything turn a bright white, then total darkness fell over me.

* * *

The Shinigami Realm

Two days before Day 1 of the wager.

_"Someone pick a human," Toru said wearily. "I'm getting tired of waiting."_

_"We waited for you," Izanami reasoned. Her eyes never left the viewing portal. "I want to pick someone really worthy. Someone I know will win for me."_

_"What's that?" Tetsuo asked suddenly. _

_The other two leaned closer and the portal's view slid closer. _

_It was a large, ornate building, and it was engulfed in flames. It didn't burn so brightly against the night sky, since there were so many other lights all around it. There were many people all around, and one in particular caught Tetsuo's attention. He followed the black figure as it darted closer to the fire, and disappeared into it even though everyone else was too afraid to go close. _

_"What's that human doing?" Tetsuo asked. "He's going into the fire."_

_"Maybe there's a shinigami here somewhere getting ready to write that human's name down."_

_Tetsuo looked around. "There's no one here. He's not going to die."_

_"Let me write his name down." Toru looked closer and the portal's view shifted lower and through the flames, the crumbling building, and into a large hall. He looked around for the black figure. "Where is he?"_

_None of the shinigami could find him. But they did find some other humans. _

* * *

Gotham City

Two days before Day 1 of the wager.

Karunanedi Jewelry Exhibit, Downtown Gotham.

I opened my eyes.

_Oh God, this hurts._

For several moments I just stared straight ahead, and then after a long time, listening to crackling and rumbling and hissing, I realized that I was staring at a caved-in ceiling.

I was in so much pain. Every inhalation, exhalation, was labored. I moved my arm, my left arm, and then, I tried to move my right. I moved too quickly, and I screamed out loud, my cry practically drowned out by the sound of...

_Fire?_

With streaming eyes, I turned my head slightly, and I realized that indeed, it was fire.

_God, in Jesus' name, please help me._

I braced myself and attempted to sit up. It was torment. I gave a strangled cry and dropped back down the few inches I'd risen up. I coughed and sobbed. "Help," I moaned weakly.

There was no chance of anyone hearing me. I could barely hear myself over the rushing sound of the fire.

_Was it getting closer?_

Everywhere there was darkness, and where there wasn't any of that, there was red, angry fire. _Is this what hell looks like?_

And then, like an answer to my pathetic prayer for help, a lone figure walked out of the smoke.

"Help, please," I said, a little more loudly.

I knew he heard me right away because he stopped walking, then changed directions towards me. I could vaguely make out his tall, thin figure.

"Help me, please," I begged.

And then, he walked close enough for me to see his legs.

I didn't think so at the time, but hindsight told me I should have known something was wrong when he didn't rush to my side to help. Instead, he sauntered over, exceedingly calm in the middle of a raging fire.

I looked at the man's legs, a pair of nondescript jeans over some slightly weird shoes. The jeans were too short. Those socks were colorful. Purple and green and red tessalated diamonds.

He bent closer. Because of his gas mask, I couldn't see his face.

"I like what you're wearing," he remarked. "Do you think that necklace would look good on me?"

"Wha—?" I asked, utterly bewildered. "What are you talking about?"

He reached down and pulled off the necklace. He draped the jewel around his neck. "What do you think?"

I could only stare, aghast, as it began dawning on me who this was. How could I ever forget that voice, lilting like a ventriloquist?

"Hmm. Something tells me you don't like it."

"Help me," I pleaded waveringly. "Please."

Then I gave a huge gasp of pain as he grabbed my arm. For one incredible, hopeful second, I thought he would actually save me. Then he ripped the earring from my right earlobe. I gave a scream of pain. Hot blood poured down my neck.

He turned my head to take the other. "It's gone," he remarked.

He tossed the earring away and let me drop. I gave a whimper. _God, why did you send him?_

He turned to leave.

"Help me, please!" I begged him. "Please!"

He stopped next to a collapsed pillar, tilted his head back, and studied the precarious structure. He reached out and pulled out one chunk of stone.

I felt a tremor go through the floor. And then I heard cracking and crumbling.

"No! Help me, please! God, please don't leave me!"

The man leaned down next to me. He placed the rock in my left hand and pulled his gas mask off.

The demon's face was a smudged mess of white. Black was streaked down from his eyes with sweat, and his smile was melting red paint. He looked horrifying, but his face could never be painted enough to reflect the evil within. "God helps those who help themselves." He gave me a wide grin, pulled the mask back on and ran out of sight.

The building continued to crack and everytime I heard the sound of splitting rock or falling rubble, I shut my eyes tight, expecting any second for the ceiling to fall on me.

Before I knew it, I was crying. I was so scared.

_Is this how I'm going to die?_

_Alone? _

_No one to give me comfort? _

_God, where are You? I prayed to You in His name. Where are You?_

Out of the smoke materialized a black figure.

The figure floated closer, and he was like Death himself. I shrank away, and he bent lower, not saying a word. He wore a gas mask, and also a different kind of mask. One with two tall, pointy ears. And only his eyes were revealed through.

He easily carried me off the floor, and I felt a surge of unneeded panic. "Let me go!"

He leaned closer and I saw his eyes. They were ringed with black ink, like the Joker. But they were a rich, blazing hazel. "You're safe now," he silenced me with a gravelly, disguised voice. "I've got you."

* * *

_**J-Horror Girl, all that talk of gold in your story had something to do with the setting of this chapter. Everyone, if you haven't checked out her story, please do. It's a thought-provoking and very informative Scarecrow fic called, **_**The Secrets of Scary People.**


	4. Izanami's Choice

_**Chapter 3 - Izanami's Choice**_

The Shinigami Realm

One day before Day 1 of the wager.

_"I can't seem to decide whom to choose. What about you, Tetsuo?"_

_"Well, I was thinking about that young woman who was in the fire. When that man in black saved her. Her name was Victoria Taylor. I was thinking about giving my Death Note to her."_

_"Her?" Toru demanded scornfully. "You're better off giving me your hundred years right now. She would never kill anyone."_

_"Well, I don't know about that," Tetsuo remarked thoughtfully. "That man was very cruel to her. He left her there to die." Tetsuo paused. "She might kill for revenge."_

_Izanami nodded. "She might. I've seen it in the past. I've written the names of a few victims of vengeful killings. It's not uncommon in the human world, Toru, I assure you."_

_"I wouldn't waste my time on revenge." Toru waved his hairy insect arm. "It takes too much energy."_

_Izanami considered. "I think I would, if someone wronged me deeply. I think the satisfaction to be drawn from revenge would be worth the effort. What do you think, Tetsuo?"_

_Tetsuo directed the viewing portal towards the large white building he had seen them transport the injured girl. The building had several signs. Most of them said, Gotham General Hospital. The portal raced into the building, to the girl's room, where she lay unconscious. "I don't think revenge satisfies. It only whets the appetite for vengeance."_

_"So you think she will take revenge, and then continue to kill because she has acquired a taste for it?" Toru asked. _

_"Perhaps."_

_"Well, that's quite a theory, Tetsuo," Izanami remarked, although she didn't sound too certain such a theory would work. _

_He didn't reply. Instead, he studied the girl's bruised and burned body. "I was wondering if we are permitted to have contact with the humans we choose?" He looked at Izanami. She blinked her blue eyes. "Yes. But if you do not wish to have contact, then that's also acceptable. Ryuk told me that he didn't even meet his human until five days later. That human was faring quite well without Ryuk's help. He killed many humans."_

_Toru shrugged and preened his antennaes. "So she's your choice then?"_

_Tetsuo nodded. "Yes. I choose that human."_

_Toru smirked. "Good luck."_

_Tetsuo looked seriously at Toru. "Thank you."_

_"Well, it looks like I'm the only one left with the job of choosing." Izanami guided the viewing portal around the city. _

_The view melted through a thick brick wall building many floors high. She went through each floor, looking at the people, and none of them struck her interest. And then, finally, the view stopped in a white-washed room, full of bright lights and many paints. There were several paintings stacked against the walls, and there was a young man with long, straight hair as he brushed paint onto a huge canvas. She didn't spend too long looking at the young man, but instead her attention turned to his project._

_"Isn't that the same man we saw earlier?" She asked._

_Tetsuo and Toru leaned in. "That's the man that was cruel to that girl!" Toru exclaimed. _

_"Why is he painting that man?" Tetsuo asked curiously._

_The portal moved around the rest of the apartment, and the rest was not the same as this room. The remaining rooms of the apartment were beige with dull, yellow lights, and then there was another room filled with small clippings of the same man. Some of the clippings had a title, and they said, Joker. "I think the painter is...a fan of this Joker."_

* * *

Gotham City

One day before Day 1 of the wager.

Montgomery Apartments, The Narrows.

_Green, yellow, brown, shit! Too much brown. _

_I can never get his hair right. Hair is so hard to paint. Let me go look at that picture again. Even that one isn't so good. But still! I'm so lucky. I was able to get a mugshot of him. Man he's fucking awesome!_

I rubbed wet paint on the front of my stained T-shirt and stood up, my knees cracking from sitting on the floor for so long. I bent backwards, and my back popped. I really needed to get another easel. I shouldn't have lent it to Matthew, that fucking loser. Everytime he saw me he promised to give it back, but he never did. He probably broke it or something.

I left the my art studio and the yellow lights were relaxing to my eyes. I didn't really like the white lights too much, but I needed them so I could get the colors just right.

I walked down the hall, past a closet door and a bathroom, into my bedroom. As I drew nearer, I could hear the television murmuring quietly. I usually left it on all the time. On the local news channel. Even after seven months, I sort of expected to hear something about the Joker on the news. But I almost never did.

I loved to hear anything connected to him. A documentary that chronicled the havoc he wreaked on Gotham City. A psychological profile depicting his possible life history. It was always great to hear these theories. But sometimes here and there they would mention Batman. And that self-righteous scumbag just made me sick.

I glanced at my walls as I passed them. They were covered completely with posters or paintings or newspaper clippings from months ago. One whole wall was dedicated only to any news I'd found about the Joker. Anything from newspapers, to magazines to leaked police photos. Some of the stuff was already getting old, curling at the corners and turning yellow. I always said that I would get it laminated, but I didn't want people to know I was such a huge fan. They'd start getting suspicious of me. No one was allowed into my apartment.

Anyway, I was rummaging at my desk for the mugshot, when I heard them say something about the Joker. I turned and looked over my shoulder, and I saw different pieces of footage of the Joker. He was handcuffed and was being dragged away smirking into a police car. "What the fuck?" I cried out. I turned all the way around and fumbled for the remote to turn up the TV.

Police kept pushing away the cameras, and about half the time all I could see were sweaty palms and smudges of soot on the camera lenses. The Joker was covered in ash, but his face paint was still relatively clear.

The cameramen were all very aggressive, but in the end the cops barricaded them away and I couldn't see the Joker anymore.

The news anchorer was talking the whole time they were playing footage, but I was barely even paying attention. Something about the Joker was captured after he wreaked havoc on the Bordeaux Hall during a jewelry exhibit. He worked alone. Arkham officials revealed only tonight that the Joker's escape had been hidden from the Press. Attempts at concealing the escape from the Gotham PD were being investigated.

I slumped down on my old mattress. True genius is never recognized in its own time. Years later, everyone would say how amazing the Joker was. But I was saying it now.

_He is a genius_.

He was called evil all the time, but he stood against the real evil of this world: Society.

He revelled in who he was as an individual and wasn't afraid to show the world. Not everyone has the courage to stand against society that way. Hell, even I didn't. It was a lot of work and it can burn a person out easily. But he never burnt out. He was always going strong. And if I wasn't mistaken, it was the Batman who burned himself out. He was gone.

I watched as the news went on to inform the public that the Joker was being transported the Arkham Asylum once again. Just before finishing the report, the anchorer as GCN said that some witnesses claimed to have seen the Batman deliver the Joker. There were no photographs, no evidence.

I narrowed my eyes as the anchorers turned to banter. _I sort of hope he's back, don't you Evans?_

_I don't know what to say about that. I'm just glad the Joker isn't loose anymore. _

I felt my mood turn rotten. That son of a bitch, Batman. I'd celebrated too soon. Batman wasn't gone. He was showing his face again. His _masked _face, fucking coward. And guess what? The next time the Joker got out, Batman would come out too.

If I knew the Joker I'd help him get out. In a second I would. No hesitation. He wouldn't kill me either. He'd keep me around. I'm smart, I'm useful.

I mused about it sometimes. Yeah. The Joker and I would be pals if we ever met.

_Sorry, kind of a short chapter. I haven't named any of these human characters, I know. I'll start naming them from now on, since I introduced them all to you. I'm pretty sure it wouldn't be difficult to guess who the narrator is each time, but just in case it is, I'll be naming them. _


	5. Tori

_**Hi everyone, I know it's been like a week since I last updated. I'm going to try to update both my stories at least once a week. I haven't given up on these two, in-progress stories or anything like that. I just need to slow down a bit. Thank you all for reading! Enjoy, and please review. **_

* * *

_**Chapter 4 - Tori**_

Gotham City

Day 1 of the Wager

Gotham General Hospital

ICU - Burn Unit

I opened my eyes. Everything I saw was blurry, and white.

"Oh, she's waking up! Randy, go get your father!"

I parted my lips slowly. They were stiff and sticking together. "Mom?" I whispered.

"Yeah, honey, it's me." Her voice was quivering slightly.

"What happened?"

"Hush. I want you to wait until I tell you."

I blinked several times, my vision gaining focus. _I'm alive._

_I'M ALIVE!_

_Thank God, I'm alive! I feel guilty for ever doubting You. Father please forgive me..._

"Mom...what happened...to...to...Ramesh. And Madhuri?" I turned my head to my left slowly, not feeling pain, but lethargy.

She blinked back tears. "We don't know, sweetie," her voice faded to a whisper.

I made no reaction at first. But I realized I could only assume the worst. "Are they...Mom, are they _dead_?"

She shook her head. "We don't know," she said again, as though not knowing for sure could mean they were still alive.

_Why? Who else survived?_

She wiped away a tear, then pulled off her glasses to use a tissue.

I felt a lump forming in my own throat. I was just talking to Madhuri. _I'll be right back. Two minutes._

And then that stranger who had offered help-_Why didn't I accept his help? _

"Did any of the guests make it Mom?" I asked, my voice shaking. I already knew the answer from her sad, grim face.

Without opening her eyes, she shook her head. Her face fell as she threw her arms around my shoulders. "I almost lost you!" She sobbed.

I felt tears trickle over the sides of my face. _A couple of people tried to make sure you lost me. _

"Mom, what happened to Batman?" I asked suddenly.

She pulled away and sniffed. "Batman?"

"Is he okay?"

She frowned. "You saw him?"

"He saved me, Mom."

She shook her head, perturbed. "No one saw him. The responding fire and ambulance crews found you at the front of the building, on the sidewalk."

Before I could respond, my father and brother walked in. My father's face was tight and grim, but when he saw me, he offered a small smile. "Hello, my girl," he greeted.

He walked over and kissed my forehead. "How are you feeling?"

"I don't feel any pain." I glanced at my brother, who looked uncomfortable standing in the room. He was nineteen, a college freshman.

"That's good," my father said, sighing. I noticed there was something else he was thinking. He was quite easy to read, and obviously he was disconcerted.

"Is something wrong?"

My mother put one hand on my shoulder and gripped my left hand with the other. "There's something you need to know."

I frowned. "What is it?"

They exchanged glances. Then my mother took a breath. "When the bombs when off, and the blast hit you..."

"Yeah?" I asked slowly, my dread heightening.

She took another deep breath and let it out. "Your right leg and arm were hit."

I turned immediately to look down at my arm. It was already gone, cut off above the elbow. My breathing grew quicker and I raised my head to look down at my leg. My leg was gone from knee down. My mom gripped my hand so tightly it hurt.

"Mom," I moaned. "What happened? What did they do?" I struggled to sit up, tears streaking freely down my face.

"Don't move! Tori, please, don't move!" She couldn't hold me down. Sitting up, I had a better view of my severed limbs, completely wrapped in white gauze, not a spot of blood in sight. She held the blanket over my chest to hide my nakedness and I knew why. The right side of my body was covered with bloody pieces of gauze. I took the blanket from her and held it in place. My brother and father had turned away.

I choked back sobs as I looked down at my body.

"Lie back down, honey," my mom said.

I exhaled and shut my eyes. My body would never be the same. No amount of surgery could fix this. The sooner I made my peace with it, the better for me.

I opened my eyes and looked down again. It was more horrible than just a moment ago.

My mom kissed my cheek. "It's going to be okay, Tori."

I shook my head.

She put her arms carefully around me and held me close like she would hold a baby. Resting my head on her shoulder I started to cry quietly.

_This can't be happening. This isn't real. God please, let this be a nightmare. Let this be a movie. Let this be anything but real. If You grant me this I'll never again ask for anything. Please, let this be a nightmare._

But of course this wasn't a nightmare. I wasn't going to wake up and find myself safe and warm in my bed at home. I wasn't going to find myself cuddled with my boyfriend and my dog wasn't going to be my feet like a warm furry blanket.

This was it. This _was_ real. I had lost two limbs a matter of moments. Half my body was covered in burns and the smell of burnt flesh was mine. That smell of iron and blood was from me. That was my flesh burning and my old blood stinking.

I realized my mom was holding all my weight that I leaned into her, and finally I leaned away. "I just want to be alone right now," I said softly. I wasn't crying anymore.

She put both her hands on my face. I wonder how far the burns went. Were they on my neck? My right cheek? I didn't want to know right now. I couldn't handle it. I just wanted to go to sleep and...well, a nightmare might be more comforting than reality now.

"Are you sure?" She asked me.

I nodded without looking at her face. I didn't look at my brother or my father. I couldn't look at anyone. Not now. I could barely deal with the news myself. How could I deal with the look in their eyes? How could I deal with their pain too when I could barely handle my own?

She squeezed my left hand and kissed my forehead, and helped me lean back into the bed. "Do you want something to eat?"

"I'm not hungry. I'm tired."

She pointed out the nurse's button on the side of my bed. "Just hit that if you need anything." I noticed all three of them glancing back at me as they left my room. I didn't look at them.

I wasn't sure how long it took for me to fall asleep, or even when I did, but when I woke up it was to a sound. I knew it was a sound and it was like a thump or a thud, but I didn't hear it again. I glanced around the room and saw no one. Pushing myself up on my elbow, I searched the floor. Nothing out of place.

The room was clean and had a sink and a cabinet beneath it. The walls were white with beige accents and nothing decorated the walls except light switches and a thermostat.

I looked at the bedside table, on my right, and instantly noticed what was out of place. Since the table top was at eye level I couldn't see the front of the notebook, but I could see it's pages and it was, well, sandy. Like it was found on a beach and then brought inside. What was that doing here? It wasn't mine.

I leaned up somemore, into a sitting position and looked down. **Death Note**.

I glanced around the room again. _What is this thing?_

I reached over, feeling the gauze tightening on my back as I took the book in my hand. I shook it a little, and sand fell on the floor. I put it back down on the table and dusted as much sand off as I could, then used a tissue from a nearby box to help. I stopped for a moment, realizing at that instant how lucky I was that it was my right hand that was damaged and not my left. How fortunate I was in that moment that I was left-handed.

My lips quivered as gratefulness and relief flooded me for the first time, a ray of hope. Things could have been so much worse. I could have lost both hands. I could have lost my left hand. I would have had to learn to write, to do everything with my right hand.

When I decided that I had brushed enough of the sand off, I slowly pushed myself back into bed.

Balancing the book on the plastic guard on the side of my bed, I opened it carefully. **The human whose name is written in this book will die.**

I frowned. A thought instantly entered my head. _Joker_. Then I shook my head. _Of course I want to kill him. Look what he did to me. To my friends._

This couldn't possibly be real. Who would leave this hear? Danny? No way, he was an idiot sometimes but he would never pull a prank like this at such a time. So who else would?

I skimmed over a few of the rules. What was the point of something like this? Was it someone's journal? Was it how someone channeled their hate? Did they just write the names of people they hated and wished would die? It had to be for their own satisfaction. It was completely ridiculous that something like this would even be possible. But...it was an entertaining, creative fantasy. It seemed like a way to imagine revenge without really hurting anyone. I looked at the white pages, filled with scrawls and writing I didn't understand or even recognize as another language. At the page where the writing stopped was a lot of sand stuck between the pages, like someone had opened the book and poured sand down on it. I tilted it over the side and let the sand slide out onto the floor.

Well, I wouldn't actually be hurting anyone if I wrote his name in here, would I? It would feel good though. But what would I achieve with it? Nothing. Even that satisfaction wouldn't mean anything since nothing even happened. I would have written some guy's name, and of course that wasn't even his real name! Honestly, who names their kid Joker?

I was about to put the book back on the table when I realized that for a few moments there, I hadn't thought about my injuries. Then my heart felt heavy again. I was about to put the book back when I noticed something black and tall at my left peripheral. It had just appeared there, like it had walked into view a little bit.

I looked without thinking. I was the only thing that should have been moving in this room, since I was alone. I sucked in a loud gasp and the book slapped to the floor.

I shrank back, horrified, my voice lost for a moment, and then I screamed.

But the thing didn't move. It just stood there, hunched over. It didn't even flinch at the noise I made. I was completely immobilized and even though I wanted to, I couldn't run.

A nurse apparently heard my scream right away and barged in. She glanced around the room, missing the most obvious thing, the very reason I had screamed. "Are you okay?" She asked, genuinely concerned, and walked over quickly.

My jaw trembled as I glanced at the monster and then at the nurse. She walked right towards the thing, not even seeing it. And then I expected her to crash into the monster but instead she walked right through it, rippling the thing's body as she did, as though she was stone sinking through a pond of water. I watched in shock and amazement and disbelief.

She slowly eased me back into the pillow, tucking the blanket around me and then went to the other side to do the same thing. "Are you all right? Do you want some water or juice or something? Did you have a nightmare?"

I swallowed, my mouth dry. I glanced at the monster's face as it surveyed the scene with its blue-green eyes. Black marks streaked its face, running down from each eye like tears. And then it opened it's mouth and _spoke _to me. "If she touches that book, she will also see me." It's voice was deep and smooth, but there was a slight echo to it that made it sound inhuman.

I glanced at the nurse just as she was getting ready to bend over and pick up the book. "Wait!" I said sharply.

She glanced at me, stopping halfway. She straightened up. "Is that your notebook?"

"No. I mean yes. I just...don't want to look at it right now. Just please leave it."

She shrugged a little, obviously thinking that my request was a strange one, but she let it be. "If you need anything just-"

"Hit the button. I know. Thank you."

She smiled and nodded, and walked out, closing the door behind herself.

I looked at the monster. It stood very still, not breathing. It could have been a wax statue. "What are you?" I asked finally.

"I am a death god."

"Is that another way of saying you're a demon?" I asked after a few moments, thinking before asking each question.

"I think you may call me a demon, yes."

"Are there others like you?"

"Yes."

"What do you want with me?"

"I dropped that Death Note. It now belongs in the human world because a human has touched it."

"This is yours?"

"Not mine." The demon didn't elaborate.

"Then whose is it?"

"He doesn't want it back. I will say no more of it."

I let the last sentence hang in the air for a moment. I detected the first hint of emotion in the thing's voice.

"So...does it really work?"

"Yes."

I glanced towards the floor, even though I couldn't see the book.

"Do you want to write someone's name in it?" It was totally devoid of emotion now.

I turned back to it. "Murder is a sin, don't you know the laws of God?"

"We are eternally separated. His laws don't apply to me."

"But they apply to me. I want you to leave me alone. I never want to see you again."

The demon floated around the end of the bed gracefully. It was wearing black bandages and its straight white hair fluttered out behind it as he moved. On its back were two small, shrivelled wings. "Does this mean that you forfeit ownership?" The demon bent down and picked up the book with long, slender fingers.

"I own it now?"

"Yes. The Death Note is yours."

"I don't want that. I'm not going to kill anyone."

"Then you may forfeit ownership. You will forget everything about Death Note, and you will not remember seeing me."

I glanced at the book. The demon held it out to me. I looked at it's smooth gray skin, it's blackened thumbnail. It's knuckles protruded through it's skin in bleached bumps. It was very tall, perhaps about seven feet tall, looming over me.

"Are there other books like these?"

"Yes."

"How many?"

"It's impossible to say."

"Do you demons drop these books often?" I asked, my voice a little sarcastic.

"Not often."

It was impossible to read what that thing was thinking. Its expression was passive and serious, very calm, it's voice almost monotonous.

"I'm not going to forfeit ownership."

The demon made no indication of disappointment or anything otherwise. It only considered my words, then asked, "Why not?"

"Because I think you were trying to start trouble. But if I keep the notebook and never use it, you won't cause any."

The demon made no reply.

"Now get lost."

The demon stood there for several moments, staring with those blue-green eyes. "Very well." It flapped its tiny useless-looking wings, but they grew and morphed into something huge, and eventually they were batwings. The demon looked down at me once before floating up and disappearing through the ceiling.


	6. Paul

_**Chapter 5 - Paul**_

Gotham City

Day 1 of the Wager

Montgomery Apartments, The Narrows.

The old grandfather clock in my living room sounded off. I know, I'm an antique freak. What can I say? I have a desk from the mid-nineteen hundreds and the grandfather clock is from eighty-three years ago. Even my drapes are made of green velvet and I bought them at an antique store about ten miles away. I'm not sure why, maybe it's the artist in me. I admire old things. Ancient things, especially. I have a rifle and a revolver from the Civil War. I'd bought them out of _Man at Arms_ magazine. I have a lot of Native American relics too. A whole shelf of them. I'd found them in the Appalachians on a lonely hike. Most people didn't hike in those mountains alone, but I did. It's quite refreshing to be away from other people. But after a bear attack the last time, I was taking it easy. And next time I went, I was going with a shotgun, not just a tiny Glock. I'd like to blow that fucking bear's head off before it has a change to kick the hell out of me. I almost died from infection because of that fucking beast.

The time was three in the morning. Four more hours until I had to be at work. Fourteen more hours until I'd be able to sleep. Another night with no rest. Well, maybe not. I could sleep for about three hours.

My regular job was construction, but I taught art part time at a local rec center. Once every two weeks. I usually looked forward to lessons. That job wasn't really for the money - I mean I didn't get paid - I just did it for fun. Most of all, it was a nice way to meet women, who already shared an interest with me. It was a good way to impart - and gain - knowledge about art and techniques and exchange ideas.

No one knew about my secret passion of painting the Joker, but he was just so fascinating. I wasn't in love with him or anything. I mean, if a guy loves a band of musicians, that doesn't mean he's going to jump into bed with them. It's just...a respect that grows for someone you admire. The Joker, he was an artist in his own right. And he was inspiration too. I think he knew it too. He just soaked it all up. Especially when he was making those videos. He was theatrical. That was his art. The world was his stage and all that crap. I think Batman is the same way. But he annoys the shit out of me. He's just so sure he's doing the right thing. That just irritates the _fuck _outta me!

Rubbing the paint on my clothes, I walked into my room and turned the lights off. I was pretty tired.

I lay down in my bed, which was against the wall. Turning on my left, facing the wall, I pulled the blanket tighter around me and closed my eyes. I was out like a light. Seriously. I worked too hard everyday to be able to stay up when I lay in bed.

And of course, something had to wake me up. It was probably one of the neighbors throwing shit around. Of course. At three in the morning. Like there was no one around. I blinked and turned over. I reached out and turned on my lamp. The time was just three-thirty.

_Hello, what's this?_

It was a notebook. Sitting right there on my nightstand. How did it fucking get there? I looked around. I listened. No sound.

I reached under my bed and pulled out a baseball bat.

I stepped out of bed and went to my bedroom door cautiously. Then I stopped. Who in the world would sneak into someone's house and just drop a book there, and leave? I looked at my things. Everything still in place. The things of most value in this apartment were my antiques. The little things that could just be picked up off the shelf and pocketed. But they were all there. I looked closer. _Man I need to dust these things. _

I closed and locked my door. This way no one could come in without me hearing it. If they wanted food they could steal it and let me rest. I was fucking tired. I went back to the notebook. **Death Note.**

I put the bat on the bed beside me and yawned. Rubbing my eyes, I picked up the book. _What the hell is going on?_

This wasn't even some antique I'd bought. I remembered everything I bought.

I opened it up. **How to use this note. The human whose name is written in this note shall die. **

Well, I could think of one person right away. Batman. I yawned again. I chuckled to myself. Yeah, like this thing really works.

This thing definitely looked like an antique. Ancient too. Perfect condition, but the design was old. Bound with thread. The cover was either leather or cloth. Something thick. Almost fuzzy. The pages were white, but the texture resembled parchment. The edges were frayed, but that looked deliberate. I looked at both covers closely, looking for a manufacturer or binder name. Nothing. Some of the white pages were scribbled on. I didn't recognize the language. It was weird though. I think I would have recognized an ancient language if I saw it. I mean, I know what Sanskrit looks like, Hebrew, Greek, even Aramaic. Most people couldn't tell the difference between Greek and Aramaic, but I could. I had a poster of the Rosetta Stone in my bedroom. I also had a poster of a piece of the Bible Codex. A photo of a page from the book of Jeremiah.

I studied the letters in the pages more closely. It wasn't gibberish. It was a real language. I could recognize the same letter here and there. Punctuation, too, apparently. Like a line or a squiggle at the end or beginning words. It appeared to me that the language used a long vertical line as a space instead of a blank space. Yeah, it was a real language. I took a pen.

I was about to write his name down. Batman. _Just do it._

I made a dot. Then I stopped. _Wait. What if it works?_

And I made a little line. I looked at the how-to rules. I chuckled again. That was in English. How come? Why go to all that trouble to make something appear ancient, then go and ruin the whole thing by writing in it in English? I shook my head. This couldn't be real.

I put the pen down. And then placed the book back. I'd worry about this thing later. I needed rest.

I turned the light off and settling under the blanket, I closed my eyes even before they adjusted to the dark.

Just as I was falling asleep, I heard another noise. Right in front of my face. Now that wasn't in another apartment. That were here, in my room. This apartment wasn't haunted. I'd lived here for years. I opened my eyes and turned the light on.

I saw long wispy tatters of cloth. I jerked my head back and looked up.

The _thing_ turned its head to the side slightly, like a bird and looked down at me. I opened my mouth to scream, but the thing bent closer and pressed an icy hand over my face. I backed away as far as the wall would let me, and then I stopped moving. I was frozen stiff, my eyes wide, my hands thrown back.

"Don't be afraid." The thing had a woman's voice. Smooth and sultry, almost a little husky. "I'm Izanami." She smiled then, her teeth like sharks. She only had one row though. She said her name like she was a goddess. Her eyes were a supreme, almost electrical blue. And they shone like liquid. "You need not fear me, Paul Zimmerman. I'm a friend." she said gently.

I didn't know what the fuck she was right then, but I seriously doubted she was any friend of mine.

* * *

_**Hi everyone, please read and review! By the way, the Bible Codex is actually in many pieces found all over the place. The piece that contains the Book of Jeremiah is called either the Leningrad Codex or the Aleppo Codex. They're actually two different manuscripts of the same book, made at two different times. **_


	7. Roger's Yacht Basin

_**Author's Note: I wrote this chapter originally sometime between May and July of 2009. The section entitled, "Roger's Yacht Basin" has been rewritten in December of 2012 to give Bruce Wayne a darker, more suitable voice. **_

* * *

_**Chapter 6 - Roger's Yacht Basin**_

Gotham City

Day 1

Gotham High School

I sat very still as I watched the commotion. Pretty soon the students were ushered out of the classroom and paramedics rushed in to take Frankie. I mean, the body.

_Holy shit! I just fucking killed him! He's dead because of me! _

_Damn it Ryan, hold it the fuck together, otherwise you're going to fucking puke-_

"Hey, you okay?"

I flinched away from the touch. It was the guy who had lent me a pen. I looked at him through a haze of thoughts, trying to concentrate and focus. I swallowed and didn't answer.

"I want my pen back."

"Huh?" I asked irritatedly. I looked down at my notebook. I was clutching it folded down the middle, so the title couldn't be seen. I was crumpling it up, crushing like an old rolled up newspaper. The pen was stuck in the middle. I pulled it out with a horribly trembling hand and handed it back to him. He looked barely shaken up, so steady. "Funny how he died after you walked in, isn't it?"

That did it. Before even thinking I reacted, and snapped. I shoved him angrily. "What are you trying to say?" I demanded, panic and rage mixed together in my voice, raising it higher than normal.

He was truly surprised at my attack. He raised both hands. "Hey, take it easy. I was just saying it's weird. Not that...not that you killed him or something."

There were people around, watching. To me everything was a rushing blur. Eyes on me, thinking, wondering...

_Did he do it? Was it him? Frankie tripped him, we all saw it. _

_Shit, cops were going to come to my house. They were going to ask what happened. What I did. Can we look around your room? _

_Do you have a warrant? _

_They wouldn't say anything but would look at each other. He asked if we had a warrant. Yeah, he's hiding something. Definite suspect. Instant suspect. Maybe he killed him. But how did he do it?_

Our teacher came over and slowly unpried my fingers from around the guy's shirt. "Ryan," he said slowly. "We're all upset."

I shoved the teacher's hands away and shoved the student up against the lockers, clattering the metal doors. "I didn't kill him."

"I didn't say you did," he replied quietly.

The teacher tried once again to stop me from getting more violent.

_You were thinking it,_ I thought. But I let him go and stalked away, the notebook still clutched tightly in my hand. _If he wasn't thinking it before, asshole, he's definitely thinking it now. Why did you attack him like that? You should have stayed cool. That's why you get picked on because you never fucking stay cool. _

I took off down the hall and into the parking lot.

I had my car. I could go home right away. _Shit they're going to search your car too! Get rid of these firearms. But where? Get rid of the receipts. Get rid of the videos. Get rid of everything! They're going to fucking find out! You've seen enough Forensic Files. You've watched enough truTV. You know. You know they'll find you if you're not ready!_

_You haven't fired any weapons. No gunpowder residue anywhere. No spent shell casings. You're okay so far. Just wipe off the fingerprints. Dump it in the ocean. Don't sell it. Forget the money you spent. Forget the time you spent planning. Your life is more important. You don't want to go to prison for something you didn't even finish doing. Illegal possession of a weapon. Illegal possession with intent to use. Fuck! Get home now!_

Once inside my car, I took a deep breath to calm myself. I was almost hyperventilating. And I was disgusted with myself. Is this what I would have done if I had shot him to death? Hopefully not. No, I wouldn't have. I would have been a monster to them, armed with guns, killing anyone in sight. They would have run, cowered, screamed. This was totally different.

I wasn't thinking about the security guards usually at the school exit, but today no one was there. They were probably over at the murder scene.

_No! Stop it! It's not a murder scene. They don't know it's a murder scene. As far as they know it's a death. _

Unexplainable death. They'd perform an autopsy. They'd find nothing. Except that he died of a heart attack. _Cardiac arrest. _

_Just go home and get rid of everything. That's all you need to do. One thing at a time. Relax. Be cool. Be calm. You're goal was to kill and you did it. You accomplished your goal. You're victorious. Be calm._

By the time I arrived home, I was a little calmer. The Death Note sat on my lap all the way home. No one was here. Mom and Dad were at work and I'd have the whole place to myself for about four or five hours. Perfect.

I turned the TV on. No news about it yet. Leaving the TV on, I went into the kitchen for a cold drink. I was sweating like crazy.

Okay, first thing. Dispose of weapons. I took the Death Note into my room and looked around for a place to hide it. My room was filled with posters. Dimmu Borgir, Slayer, Behemoth...Grabbing a stapler, I stapled the lower edge of one of the thicker posters. Then from the side I slipped the book behind it. The poster was on the wall opposite the entrance. I stepped back and checked it. It was okay for now. As long as no one noticed the extra staples.

_That's the murder weapon. And they won't even know that if they don't test it out. _

Once the book was safe in my room, I snatched up everything to do with all I had planned and ran back out to the car and took a moment to think about where to toss the weapons. In broad daylight was probably the wrong time to be doing anything like that, but if the police chose to show up at my house right away, I couldn't have those things lying around. I didn't think I had anything else remaining in my room, but I had to do a thorough search as soon as I got back. I drove to the edge of the city, near a harbor. Most of the harbor was actually full of people, except for the docks near Amusement Mile, where people just generally parked their yachts and boats. There was really no easy way for me to get through the crowds of people without being noticed, so I just pulled on the backpack and paid the small cover fee and went in. If I walked too fast I could hear the guns and bullets clicking together in my backpack, so I had to slow down.

But once I drew near the docks, I saw some people lying on the planks of wood, having a picnic! I stopped walking as soon as I saw them. There was no _way_ I was going to dump those weapons here and now. When the people saw me stop, they lazily looked up at me. I spun around and left the area. I'd have to find another place.

* * *

Gotham City

Day 1

Roger's Yacht Basin

The late-morning sea breeze is Death stroking my back. The whispering howl is Death calling me. I look down at the swirling foam, fingers curling, beckoning me into an icy grave.

For several minutes I contemplate it. To climb over the stern's railing of my multimillion-dollar yacht as people dance and laugh and clink glasses of pear champagne together. To raise my arms and take a dive into the deep blue under the smiling sun. To meet the water's cold, shattering embrace. To meet it and fall asleep. To wake up and see Rachel again. I can think of no sweeter bliss.

My guests are enjoying the luxuriously catered occasion, swaying to the live musicians plucking jaunty Latino tunes on Mexican mariachis, shaking maracas and strumming the wooden grooves on guiros. The yacht's sails beat like a bass drum.

I glance over my shoulder. My unbuttoned blazer jacket whips over my arm. My brown hair is tossed by the tempestuous wind, styling gel be damned. I feel invisible. How long will it take them to notice Bruce Wayne is missing from his own party?

Not long, I realize, just as I meet Alfred's watchful eyes. He nods at me. I nod back and turn to the water as it twinkles like a reef of blue diamonds.

When I look again, Alfred is still watching me, casting a wary glance now and then as he browses through the crowds, checking up on servers dressed smartly in black and white.

This is the first social soiree I'm hosting since Rachel died. I cannot help but think I see her everywhere. Every time a woman with those smooth sloping shoulders and a swept up bun walks by, my heart jumps in my chest. It makes me sick to remember she had been there at the last fundraiser, the one I felt compelled to give the fresh-faced Gotham District Attorney, Harvey Dent. But that was before I knew how close he was to the cliff of madness. That was before the Joker destroyed him. Has it only been seven months? Just seven months since the Joker had threatened Rachel's life? I cannot believe it. It has been only a paltry seven months after I dove after her through the shattered window without a second thought.

My eyes sting with tears. I cannot tell if it's because of the wind or hellish guilt. I crave the cowl, the skin-tight armor of the Batsuit. I want to hide, I want to disappear behind it, even though it is the very reason Rachel is gone.

I feel naked without my mask, helpless. A man in a battle without armor. Without a weapon. I feel exposed to be out here among these people who don't know me. To them I am just another tabloid headline. Another wealthy man in a three-thousand dollar suit and power tie, equipped with a confident smile and a checkbook, fountain pen poised to write out all kinds of numbers on pure whim.

There is a roar of screams far off. Then a few minutes later, there is another, starting low, then rising to a cresendo of thrill. Roger's Yacht Basin is a large bay right near Amusement Mile. Passengers on the roller coaster hoot up more cries of fun.

"Thinking of going for a swim, Mr. Wayne?" A woman's voice says behind me, a smile in her voice.

I straighten, swipe my eyes with my thumb and turn, offering a disarming smile. "Yes, actually."

She gives a sly glance at the people on the yacht deck, then looks out at the docks lining the harbor. I follow her gaze, noting the paparazzi mingling with the late morning picnickers. Even from this distance I can see the camera lenses catching flashes of jolly sunlight. Then she fingers the top button of her yellow crème, transparent blouse. I find it abominable that this woman could be alive and breathing, blinking and full of life while there wasn't even anything left of Rachel to bury. I glance down at her fingers dancing playfully over the top button, which is shaped like a little conch shell. My jaws clench involuntarily. The sight of her enrages me. What gives her the right to live?

"How many papers do you think are out there today?" She asks, taking my brief glance to be a signal for her to go on teasing me. "How many TV stations? The paparazzi need a feeding."

I glance at one of the docks where two or three groups of picknickers laze around with sandwiches and drinks. I'm about to turn back to the woman when I see a young man dressed all in black come storming to the end of the dock, trampling over beach towels and kicking a child's ball into the water. He bumps past a paparazzi photographer who makes some sort of obscene gesture because he ruined the shot.

I realize that the woman is still waiting for some playful flirting. She thinks I'm watching the media wolves. But my eyes are glued to the unusual young man in black, clutching a bookbag. I'm too far away get his expression. But from his hunched posture he looks tense, almost frightened. Then he stops, looks around, turns, and marches off the way he came.

The young man disappears into the crowds, a spot of black moving through a sea of bright sunny colors.

I turn to the woman and catch Alfred's bored expression. A roll of the eyes.

I loosen my tie. "Vintage Indian silk," I explain and tie it to the railing. I smile at the woman. "Can't get it wet."


	8. Witnesses

_**Hi everyone. I just want to apologize for not updating **_**The Analyst**_** for two weeks, even though I said I'd try to update both stories every week. I still doubt I'm going to be able to update it this week, so it might be longer. :( I can't bring myself to write it right now. This story is more fun anyway. **_

* * *

_**Chapter 7 - Witnesses**_

Gotham City

Day 1

Gotham City Highschool

"Why don't you just tell me what happened, young man. Give me as much detail as you can, about both Frankie Pierce and Ryan Nelson."

"Well, not much, really. We were all sitting in class. Our teacher already started the lesson. One student came in late. And well, just to be an asshole, Frankie stuck his leg way out. I would have seen it, but Ryan didn't. And he tripped. But he didn't say anything or even look around. He totally ignored it. Then he sat down. He asked if he could borrow a pen, so I lent him one. And he started taking notes like the rest of us. He kept looking at his watch a lot. I thought that was a little weird, and he didn't have his backpack or textbook. But I've done that too, before. I mean, if the teacher says we're just taking notes, I don't bother bringing anything except a notebook. It's just easier. Then all of a sudden Frankie made a sound like he was really in a lot of pain. Out of nowhere. Then he made that same sound again, then he fell forward, like he was dead. I wasn't even sure if he was at the time."

"So, he just died?" The detective asked skeptically to the cool student. They were sitting in a small teacher's conference room. It was a makeshift interrogation room, with a wooden table, cushioned seats and a whiteboard, and so far no one could describe much of what happened, except that he simply dropped dead. And the rest of what this student, Dave, said, was consistent with what all the other students in the room had been saying all along.

"Yeah. Just a few minutes after he tripped Ryan."

"You sit right next to him?" The detective had already made a simple diagram of the classroom seating plan. He had interviewed about half of the students so far. The other detective was interviewing the other half right now. Since they were going methodically, there was just one person left beside Dave, and that was Ryan. But he wasn't around, which automatically drew suspicion on him.

"Yeah. On Ryan's left. And Frankie sits - used to sit - two seats in front of me."

"Does anyone sit in front of Ryan?" The detective asked as he marked down the names.

"Just two seats up from him sits Lainey. The seat right in front of him is empty."

"Did you see Ryan do anything to Frankie?" The detective looked up at Dave.

Dave shook his head. "He didn't do anything at all."

"You're certain?"

"Yeah."

"Ryan didn't touch Frankie in anyway?"

"No. You think he could have poisoned him?"

The detective shrugged slightly. "It's highly unlikely. But not impossible. I'm not in any position to rule anything out."

"Well, if Ryan touched Frankie I would have seen it."

"But you weren't really watching intently, right?"

"No," Dave admitted. "I was just taking notes, not really paying attention."

"Would you say that Ryan has any motivation to hurt Frankie?"

"Yeah. I mean, the guy picked on him almost every day. I think that was part of the reason why he ran away afterwards. I mean, I'm sure he wished Frankie was dead at some point or another. But just because you wish someone was dead doesn't mean it's ever going to happen. I think he just got scared."

"Did you see him after the incident?"

"Yeah. I asked if he was okay. Then I asked for my pen back."

The detective raised his eyebrows. "After someone died in your classroom?"

Dave stared at the detective for a moment before answering. "I don't know why I did."

"Are you in shock?"

"No. It didn't seem real though. I thought maybe he just had a seizure or something. I didn't actually think he was dead."

"What do you think now?"

"Well, he must be dead. We wouldn't be here if he wasn't."

"What did you think of Frankie?"

"He's an asshole. Was."

"Do you think he deserved what he got?"

"Maybe. Some people would say he got off easy."

"Would you say that?"

Dave studied the detective. "After I've seen what he'd done to Ryan over the years, yeah, I would say that. Everyone else would be too scared to tell you that."

The detective sighed a little and made a note. "What did Ryan do after you asked for the pen back?"

"He was in shock I think. He barely even heard me when I talked to him. He gave me the pen, and then well, I probably shouldn't have said it, but maybe I was just trying to be cool, and I was like, 'Funny how he died after you came in, right?' Or something like that."

"And what did he say?"

"Actually he didn't say anything. He pushed me first. Really hard, into the lockers. He was like, 'What are you trying to say?' And well, I think he thought I was saying he killed him. Which I wasn't. And then the teacher pulled him off of me. But he pushed me against the lockers again and said, 'I didn't kill him.' Then he ran away."

"Well, I don't think he killed him either. There is a classroom full of students who say Frankie died of his own accord."

"Yeah. But it _was _weird how he died after Ryan came into the classroom. And he was already late. Maybe it was just a coincidence."

The detective had been working too long at the police department to still believe in coincidences. But he said, "Probably so."

* * *

Gotham City

Day 1

Roger's Yacht Basin

As I walked out of Amusement Mile I was almost muttering curses under my breath. There was too much light and too many people around. I had to find an alley or something.

I spent about a good hour driving around, eventually reaching the inner city, rotten part of Gotham. There were more and more buildings and less and less houses, and every now and then there were small groups of homeless people.

Eventually, I was able to find an empty building, and some weird wells nearby. After parking the car about two or three blocks away, I went over and looked into the wells, and I couldn't see any water. I picked up a little rock and dropped it in. After several moments I heard a splash. Then I looked around quickly for any cameras. I didn't see anything, and the cars barely passed by here. Just every time the light turned red and then green a couple of stopped cars would speed up and go by. I was so far away that no one would even notice me if they weren't looking this direction.

So I opened up my backpack and let the stuff fall out. I heard a bunch of splashes after a little while.

That was all metal, so it would just sink to the bottom. Maybe I would have been better off just burying the stuff in the woods somewhere, but I didn't know any forest areas. The rest of the stuff, like the tapes and receipts, I would just have to have a little fire. I couldn't have one here, people would see the smoke, and I couldn't have one at night, people would see the fire. We had a fireplace at home, but we never used it in the summer. It would be weird if I used it now, but I didn't have a choice. I drove back home, and still no one was there. But there was no firewood. I drove back out and it actually took me two hours to find that easy burning firewood because it was a seasonal item and no one had it, since it was the summer.

But I found some, and I bought it, totally ignoring the cashier who asked me what it was for.

Then I finally got home and started the fire. The living room got really hot really fast, so I turned the AC way up. Then I dumped all the stuff on the flame, and watched as all my hard work went up in smoke.

I kept checking my watch. About two more hours before Mom got home. Hopefully no one noticed that there was a fire burning, and smoke floating out of our chimney. I watched as the papers curled up into black ash and the plastic on the CD's and tapes melted into fat droplets that sizzled when they hit the firewood. Just a little bit longer and I could put the fire out. Then I'd have to clean out the ashes and tomorrow was garbage day so it would be gone.

* * *

Gotham City

Day 1

Outside the Nelson residence.

The two detectives were verbally comparing notes as they pulled up to the house. They would wait here until the parents arrived. The school had been as cooperative as possible and contacted both of Ryan's parents.

The female detective was studying her notes as she slowed to a stop. The male detective ducked his head down a little and looked out of his window. "Is that smoke coming out of the chimney?"

The lady looked up and frowned. "Yeah. Looks like very little smoke though."

"Let's go take a look."

The detective shook her head. "The parents aren't here yet. Let's wait. They might be furious if we try to talk to their son while they're not here."

"They'll be here in a few minutes anyway. Let's just go knock on the door. We'll see what he does."


	9. Frantic Thoughts

_**Author's Note: Thanks to Dididouli for pointing out that the Death Note does not run out. I made a mistake earlier in the story by saying that Light Yagami (in the anime series) almost used up the whole Death Note. **_

* * *

_**Chapter 8 - Frantic Thoughts**_

Gotham City

Day 1

The Nelson residence.

Well, all the stuff was burned and gone. Ashes. We had a couple of cats around here somewhere, and I dragged over the twenty-pound bag of cat litter to dump on the fire so it would go out. When it was all out, I'd have to take a shovel and scoop it all into a garbage bag.

No one was going to look in this fireplace all summer. It was covered with a brass screen at all times. Even though it was tempting to leave it in the fireplace for the time being, I knew I couldn't. I was about to walk into the garage to get a shovel and a garbage bag when the doorbell chimed.

I almost jumped out of my skin. For a few moments my heart was going so fast and hard I thought I was going to pass out. I dropped the cat litter on the floor and it fell over and the sand poured out onto the rug. "Shit!" I hissed as the doorbell _ding-donged_ again. Fine dust floated up from the litter.

Then the person knocked on the door.

Why weren't they going away?

The second time they knocked, harder and more insistent, almost like with the side of their fist.

Then they rang the doorbell _again._

There was only one reason they'd do that. They knew someone was home.

I sat the bag of cat litter back up and leaned it against the bricks of the fireplace.

I had to open that door. It would look suspicious if I didn't. _What about the fire, you dickhead? _

I swallowed and palmed the sweat off my hands. I approached the door as they knocked again. Then I unchained and unlocked it noisily so they would stop banging on the door. Two serious-looking cops stood in front of me, one man, one woman. _Fuck._ "Yeah." I realized I was breathless. Then I took a deep breath. "Can I help you?"

The man spoke. "Hi. I'm Detective Burns and this is Detective Jamison. We understand you were at school today when a student in your classroom died suddenly. If you and your parents don't mind, we'd like to come in ask you a few questions."

I could feel my heart finally starting to slow down. "My parents aren't here."

"Do you mind if we come in and wait?"

If I said no that sounded hostile. If I said yes...they'd see the fireplace and what a mess it was. _Damn it I wish I could know whether they had seen the smoke outside or not. _

"They won't be here for a couple of hours. Could you come back?"

They exchanged glances. "You didn't call your parents after you left school?"

"No. Why?"

"Well, so far we've discovered that Frankie Pierce died early during the school day, around eight thirty."

_Eight-eighteen and nine seconds to be exact. _"Yeah, that sounds about right."

"And you left school shortly after that?"

They were already asking me questions. The bastards. "I think you should wait until my parents get here."

"Sure, that's perfectly fine," the detective replied, a little too nicely. "We'll wait out in our car, if you don't mind."

They turned away and stepped off the porch. _Maybe they didn't see the smoke. I still have time to clean up._

They were halfway across the yard when the man stopped and spun on his heels. He glanced up at the roof for a moment, then walked back towards me. "By the way, I noticed smoke coming out of your chimney. Is everything okay?"

I rejoiced too soon. "Yeah, everything's fine."

* * *

Gotham City

Day 1

Montgomery Apartments, The Narrows.

After a few moments, she removed her hand from my mouth. I finally found my voice. I cleared my throat to get rid of the fear. "A friend," I repeated nervously.

"Yes. I will guide you on the proper usage of the Death Note."

"What the fuck are you?"

She straightened brushed her long black, _moving_ hair aside. It looked like a head of living worms. "I'm a death god. Almost all my powers reside in a book such as that." She buried her hand within her long, flowing robes and pulled out a notebook that looked almost exactly like mine, except for a few aesthetic differences. For one thing, the writing on the words **Death Note **was curly and more feminine. "Now you hold that power in your hand."

I finally sat up in bed and picked up the notebook. "Why?"

"Sometimes we drop things by mistake into the human world. Now that notebook is yours."

"And it's used to kill people?"

"Only humans, yes."

I looked down at the notebook. "So this book being here is an accident?"

"Yes."

"This is too weird."

"Yes, humans would find something like this strange. I noticed you were about to write a name in the book."

I looked up at her. She looked more female than male anyway. I assumed she was a female. "How long have you been watching me?"

She tilted her head thoughtfully and looked around my room, floating elegantly to my shelf of Native American relics. "Since I saw you painting that man with the painted face. I must say, very good likeness."

_That's a long time. _"How come I didn't see you before?"

"No human will see a shinigami unless-"

"A _what?"_

"A shinigami. That's another name for us death gods. Since you touched that Death Note, you have the ability to see me. No one else will see or hear me until they touch that notebook."

She lifted up a relic of a naked woman, one with a big belly and large breasts. "I like these things you have."

"So...if I didn't touch the Death Note, and you lifted that thing up, what would it look like?"

"Like it was floating in midair." She turned around, still holding the relic. "Tell me, do you have apples?"

_"Apples?_"

"Yes." She smiled at me and placed the relic back down where it belonged. Her smile wouldn't have been so terrible if it weren't for those pointy, menacing teeth. "I have heard apples in the human world are delicious."

* * *

Gotham City

Day 1 of the Wager

Gotham General Hospital

ICU - Burn Unit

I opened the Death Note up with my left hand. I crossed myself and thanked God that I at least had one hand.

I counted the pages in the Death Note. There were exactly forty-nine sheets, but none were numbered. And the strange writing stopped exactly in the middle. _So_, I thought, _all these people were killed by that demon_.

I couldn't show this thing to anyone. I couldn't even let anyone touch it. I looked around for a good place to put it. Under my pillow seemed like a good idea, but what if they came around to change my bedsheets or pillowcases? I looked down again at the desk where I had seen the notebook for the first time. It was actually a bedside table with a couple of drawers in there. I leaned over and tried to pull it open, but I couldn't lean in close enough. If I did, I might fall of the bed.

I sighed and leaned back into my pillow, pushing the notebook under it, inside the pillowcase. That spot would have to do for now.

I started to feel a dull ache throughout my entire body. I realized my head was hurting. Maybe I needed more painkillers or something. My mom had drawn the blanket up over my body, and now I pushed it away. I was completely naked underneath, except for what parts of my body were covered with gauze or bandages. Half of my body was covered in burns, my whole right side, my breast, my stomach. I felt sickened then, almost ready to vomit at the sight of myself. I'd never seen anything like it. Nothing could have prepared me for this.

I closed my eyes. My lip started to quiver and tears leaked over my face. For a long time I was able to remain silent, holding my breath in an attempt not to make a sound. My chest felt tight and I wiped my tears. But eventually I had to breathe and I sucked in a loud ragged sob.

And then I couldn't stop crying. I was making so much noise that I picked up my pillow from behind me and buried my face in it, trying to muffle my cries.

_God, what am I going to do?_

How was I going to do my work? How was I going to drive? How was I going to type or get dressed in the morning and get around?

What was my fiance going to say? What was he going to do? We had talked about stuff like this but that wasn't the same thing.

_Look at me._

What was he going to do when he saw that I was horribly disfigured for life? I knew he was out of town right now, since he was a pilot for Continental Airlines. I was sure my family had already contacted him, and it was just a matter of time before he finally showed up.

_God I just want him to hold me. _

I hugged the pillow closer and felt some of the gauze move. I sniffed dabbed tears away.

I didn't know if I could get through this. I didn't know if I could get through treatment, recovery, therapy, disability applications...Would I be on disability from now on? Would I be able to get another job? Would anyone hire me? What would they hire me for? How would I be able to do my job without both my legs, both my arms? I needed to walk around, I did so much browsing in store for china, for curtains, for decoration items...It would boggle anyone's mind. Even I found my first couple of jobs overwhelming. Now how would I do all that?

I heaved a shaky sigh. Using my left hand, I gently touched the right side of my neck, tracing carefully the edge of the gauze. It ended over my right jaw, in the area of skin over my teeth. My cheek was unscathed, and so was, apparently, the rest of my face. I ran my fingers upward, into my scalp. I had expected it, but hoped with all my might against it. Half of my head was covered with gauze. Needless to say my hair was gone, and would probably never grow back from the scar tissue.

I could detect a lump under the gauze where my ear was, but I wasn't sure what was left of my ear.

Tears threatened again, but I sucked in a deep breath to calm myself. I couldn't let myself be taken over by emotions like this. I'd dissolve into a mess for a long time.

From within the pillowcase, I pulled out the Death Note again.

I wished I _did_ know Joker's real name. Then I would write his name in here and save a lot of other people heartache and misery and death.

_But murder is a sin._

_What's writing someone's name going to do? I wouldn't even have to touch him. I wouldn't even have to look at him. _

_It's still a sin._

No matter how I tried to justify killing an evil man in my head, I knew that ultimately it was wrong. And until I knew his name, I would be unable to kill him. That little piece of information would keep me from committing murder.

But wait a minute. He wasn't the only evil man around. What about terrorists? What about men that funded terrorist activities? Not just Islamic fundamentalists. But North Korea? Iran? Iran was about to explode with civil war. And drug traffickers and human traffickers? What about the mob?

Did I really have the right to choose who died and who lived?

God let those men live. There must be a reason. If He wanted them gone, they'd be gone. His will was unstoppable. So, who was I to go against His will?

But why else would I receive this Death Note? I looked down at it and rubbed some sand away from the cover. _There has to be a purpose. _

* * *

Gotham City

Day 1

The Nelson residence.

I just barely got done cleaning up the cat litter from the floor when there was a knock on the door again. I dumped whatever I'd been able to sweep off the carpet and dumped it into the fireplace. I tossed the broom and pan in the kitchen and dragged the cat litter out of sight.

I sat the brass screen back up in front of the fireplace and expected to go and open up the door, but it opened by itself. _Didn't I lock that?_

But it wasn't those cops. It was my mom.

"Ryan, _what's_ going on here?" She demanded in exhasperation.

"Mom there was-"

"I get this call at work, telling me there was a student that died in your class, and then I get a call that says you've left school without permission, and I'm told there are cops already investigating this case. What _is_ all this?"

This was just like her. Never one instance of understanding, never a thought for someone else. "The cops are here to ask a few questions. They want to ask me questions because I was there in the class when he died."

"Oh my God." My mother brushed past me with a hand to her head.

"It'll be fine, let's just get it over with."

"Why did you leave school like that? Don't you know how that makes you look?" She came over to me and put her hands on my shoulders. Her eyes glistened a little with tears. "Ryan..."

She couldn't get the words out. I knew what she was trying to ask me. She was trying to ask if I was guilty. If I ran away because I was guilty. _Ryan, did you have something to do with that young man's death?_

I pushed her away. She stumbled backwards, but didn't fall. But I wished she _did _fall. How could she even think that I had anything to do with it? Her own son.

I swallowed over a lump in my throat. Then I rolled my eyes at her contemptuously. "Yeah, Mom," I began sarcastically. "I killed him myself in front of thirty other students."


	10. First Impressions

_**Chapter 9 - First Impressions**_

Gotham City

Day 1

Montgomery Apartments, The Narrows.

I stared at her with my jaw hanging slack. _Apples she says. _"I can't get you apples at this hour. You're just going to have to wait." I yawned enormously. "Fuck, I'm tired." Why couldn't she have waited until morning to scare the shit out of me?

She turned away and started once again to pick up my things and look through them.

"Don't drop those things. They're priceless."

"What are they?"

"Relics, idols, antiques."

"What is this for?" She showed me one which was was a small statue of a man with a spear, sporting a scary face-mask.

"Listen, I have to work tomorrow. If I'm lucky I'll get a few hours' sleep. Now be quiet so I can sleep."

She turned around and tossed the small statuette of the man up and caught it. "Hey!" I protested, and sat up in bed.

"Are you always this tense?" She tossed the warrior idol up almost to the ceiling and caught it.

"Yes. Now put that down!"

She shrugged and let the statuette drop from her fingers. I leapt out of bed to catch it, but turning herself upside down, she caught it, inches from the floor. She floated upwards and into a lying position on her back. Then she tilted her head towards me. "Tell me, whose name were you going to write in that book?"

I snatched the warrior idol out of her hand. "It doesn't matter," I replied, irritated. "I don't know his real name anyway."

"Do you really want to kill this human?"

I put the idol on the bedside table and sank into bed. "I don't know. I guess it doesn't matter if he's dead or not. I just don't want him to be Batman."

"Who is Batman?"

I couldn't hide the scorn from my voice, as tired as I was. "It's just some guy who thinks he has the right to stalk around the city and capture criminals. It's against the law for ordinary citizens to hand out justice. Don't you have laws where you come from?"

She blinked her bright eyes, catching the dim light of my lamp. She was clearly interested. "Not laws like humans."

"Hmm. Well, in the human world, in this country anyway, we elect people to provide everyone with protection and the authority to capture criminals. Ordinary people, citizens, civilians, those who haven't been elected by the rest of the public, don't have the authority to do any of that. But some people, like the Batman, think they do have the right. Instead of leaving the job to the men and women chosen to protect the city, he takes matters into his own hands."

She turned onto her stomach, and rested the side of her face on her folded arms. "And this angers you?"

"I just hate self-righteous assholes."

"Do you think what he is doing is unlawful?"

"I _know_ it's unlawful. But it goes way beyond that. Who is he to hand out judgment? Who is he to decide who is good and who is bad? No one. He's not a judge. He's not a cop. He's not the DA, he's no one. He's a fucking civilian in a cape and mask. He's a coward. He won't even show his face! If he's so righteous, why does he have to hide himself?"

"You mean, you don't even know what his face looks like?"

"No. He hides behind his bat mask."

"Hmm, well that does present a problem," she admitted and nodded.

"What do you mean?"

She glanced at me. Then she righted herself in midair and sat in a meditative lotus position, floating at my eye level. "Well, it does not matter if you have no intention of killing this human."

"But what problem were you talking about?"

She closed her eyes. "You see, in order for the Death Note to work, you must have a face and the corresponding name. You cannot kill without both, or even just one of those things."

"It doesn't matter if I don't know his face. Even if I just have his name, I can look him up in the phone book and find out where he lives and eventually, what he looks like."

She opened her eyes. They glinted in the light. I had no idea what she was thinking. "What's a phone book?"

I was silent for a moment but then I chuckled. We were just talking about killing the Batman, and she had no idea what a phone book was. I thought about how I could explain it to her easily. "A phone book is...a way to find out information you can use to contact another human, almost whomever you want."

"Like a notice or a letter?"

"Yeah, something like that. But it's faster."

She closed her eyes again. "There is a way for you to find out his name. If you are interested in killing this man."

I frowned. "How?"

"You see," she began, and opened her eyes. She floated closer, inches from my face, so all I could see were her gleaming, clear blue eyes. They were gorgeous. Inhuman, but beautiful. "We shinigami have special eyes that can see a human's name and lifespan when we look at her or him. That is how we kill without having to find the person's name."

"So what? Are you going to tell me Batman's name?"

She shook her head and smiled smugly. "No. Unfortunately, for you, that is against the rules. Shinigami are not allowed to aid or hinder a human's motives. But I am however, permitted to inform you about the Eye Deal."

"The Eye Deal."

"Yes." She pointed to her eyes with both index fingers. "You can get _my _eyes, in exchange for half of _your _remaining life span. With _my _eyes, _you _can find out Batman's real name simply by looking at him."

"Do you think I'm crazy?"

"What do you mean?"

"I'm not going to just halve the rest of my lifespan! I'm not even sure I want to kill Batman."

She shrugged. "Then what do you want to do to him?"

I sighed and made myself comfortable in bed. I turned the TV on and watched the news channel as they recapped on the earlier events, showing clips of the Joker grinning as he was dragged away. Joker would have free reign if it wasn't for Batman. _What do I want to do to him? _"Make him stop being Batman."

* * *

Gotham City

Day 1

The Nelson residence.

"Would you like something to drink?"

"Sure."

I sat and watched my mother disappear into the kitchen. "You have a lovely home, Mrs. Nelson."

"Thank you," my mother called from the kitchen.

The male detective tilted his head upward and looked towards the fireplace. It looked innocent enough, I thought. Apparently, so did he, because he looked away almost immediately. He settled himself deeper in the sofa, and, just as my mother was walking back into the room, he asked me, "So what was that fire all about?"

"What fire?" My mother asked as she placed a tray of glasses of juice on the coffee table.

I seethed inside at the question but I took a glass for myself and took a sip. Nonchalantly as I could manage, I replied, "Oh, nothing really. I feel sort of embarrassed saying this, but I'm a bit of a pryomaniac."

"Is that so?" The cop asked as he reached for his own glass. "Well, I guess that would certainly explain the fire. Why do you enjoy burning things so much?"

Stalling for time, I shrugged slightly and took another sip. My mother watched with a disturbed frown on her face, but said nothing. "I guess it calms me down. I mean, after such a stressful day, you can imagine how upset I was."

"Yes of course. Now, why don't you tell me what happened exactly?"

I went over everything except the fact that I wrote Frankie Pierce's name in my notebook. And of course, the fact that I had weapons stashed in the car for a planned multiple-murder and suicide. And I didn't tell them I had dumped the weapons or what I'd burned in the fireplace. But, I told him I was late for class in the morning and that the students were already taking notes when I came in. If I made it sound like I was too perfect, then it might seem like I was hiding something.

"Why were you late for class?"

"I was feeling sick."

"Why?"

"I don't know. I guess because I didn't sleep enough the night before." That was totally true. I was stressed and worried sick about what I had planned today. But all that was the past now. I was still alive and so were so many of the people I wanted dead for tormenting me.

"Yes, now that you mention it, you do look very tired."

I forced a laugh. "Shouldn't have had that late night cup of coffee."

My mother didn't laugh, but the cops offered small chuckles. They looked very serious though. Of course they did. They were investigating a suspicious death. Not murder. Yet. And if I was smart, _suspicious death_ would never turn to _murder._

"So, why did you leave school?"

That was probably the hardest question for which to create a lie. So I answered with blunt honesty. "I was scared."

"Why?"

"I guess, well, when this guy in my class, Dave, said that it was weird how Frankie died after I came to class, I just started to panic. You know? I started to think that it would get pinned on me because I stood out because I was late to class or whatever. I just got really scared."

The cop nodded, and surprisingly, he seemed sympathetic. "I can't tell you how many times people said they did things they didn't actually do because they were scared. It's a natural response sometimes."

I nodded. "But he's really dead? It wasn't a mistake?" I could barely believe it.

"No mistake. He's really dead."

After a long pause, the cop asked, "Were the two of you friends?"

I sighed and shook my head. It was bound to come up sooner or later. "Look, I know how it will look if I told you we hated each other, but that's the truth. He hated me and I hated him."

The cop nodded and looked down at his glass. "Thank you for your honesty."

I was about to ask him something. It was on the tip of my tongue. _Am I a suspect?_

But he put his glass down and asked, "Do you mind if we take a look around your room?"

"Why?" I asked, unable to hide the suspicion from my voice. They really thought I could be connected to Frankie's death.

"Of course you can."

"Mom!"

"Just let them!"

"We'll be in and out, we promise."

"That's my room! It's totally private!"

"Come, I'll show you," my mother ignored me completely and stood up, leading the way. The cops glanced at me and followed.

I felt my face growing hot from anger. With my fists at my sides, I followed them to my room. My mother opened the door and walked in. I followed closely behind the cops as they entered my room. They were taller than me, so I didn't get a good look at the inside of my room until they were all within. But I froze in my doorway when I saw that _thing_.

"Well, this doesn't look any different from my son's room," the detective said with a small laugh.

"Ryan, this room is a mess!" My mother scolded, distressed. She started picking up shirts and socks and tossing them in my hamper. My jaw was to the floor, and my eyes were glued to the thing in the room. It was hovering over my bed, it's wings like a dragonfly's and its body like a grasshopper. It tilted its praying mantis head back and gave a raspy cackle. Then it _talked_. "You're not imagining things."

I closed my mouth and swallowed hard. I tore my eyes away from it and looked at the cops and my mother who were moving around the room. None of them could see the thing. They didn't even bat an eye when it talked.

The thing nodded, its face totally blank. Only it's voice held emotion. "That's right. Only you can see and hear me. Because only you touched the Death Note. If you get these humans out of here, I can teach you all about it."


	11. Reconvene

_**Hello everybody! It seems like not that many people are writing **_**The Dark Knight**_** fanfictions anymore. I guess it is to be expected, since that movie came out like two years ago, almost. Oh well, my story still has places to go, things to do, if you're willing to join in and read again. **_

_**I'm just going to recap what happened in the preceding chapters before I continue.**_

_**Okay, so these three shinigami (otherwise known as death gods) are in their shinigami world and decide to make a bet. They'll each drop a Death Note (a notebook used by the shinigami to kill humans at their appointed time—or ahead of time if the shinigami sees fit) into the human world, into a place called Gotham City. They'll pick the human which will receive the Death Note. The shinigami whose human kills the most people via the Death Note will win the bet. The prize for winning the bet is receiving a payment of 100 years from the lifespan of the two losing shinigami. **_

_**The three shinigami are:**_

_**Izanami: She is the solicitor of the bet. She is crafty and confident, with a remarkable aptitude for behaving icily. With her liquid blue eyes and seething black tentacles for hair, her gorgon-like appearance seems to amplify her grace. She wears little skulls for jewels and wispy black robes for clothes. **_

_**Tetsuo: Serious, reflective and cautious. Seems wary about the bet, but joins in anyway. He has blue-green eyes, long, straight white hair, and a more humanoid appearance than most shinigami. Displays a sort of gothic and grotesque grace with bones protruding from his elbows and spine, and black bandages for clothing. **_

_**Toru: Indifferent and bored. Enjoys a good game, very excited about the bet. Looks like a praying mantis head on top of a centipede body with dragonfly wings and grasshopper legs . The insect-like appearance contributes to pronounced physical awkwardness.**_

_**Toru goes first in picking a human. The human he chooses is a young man called Ryan as he's sitting in his car in his high school's parking lot. And he just happens to be readying himself mentally to barge into his school with guns blazing. His plan is to kill everyone and then himself. Well, that doesn't go too well when Toru drops the Death Note from the shinigami world onto the roof of his car. Ryan aborts his plan to wreak death and destruction, but when he's in class, he writes the name of one of his most hates nemeses – Frankie Pierce – down in the Death Note. Forty seconds later, Frankie's dies abruptly of a heart attack, just as the Death Note promises. **_

_**Class is interrupted and Ryan runs home in a panic. He scrambles to dispose of all the evidence he has that proves he was planning to shoot people at his school. He tries to dispose of his evidence at Roger's Yacht Basin. Because there are too many people around, he chickens out and tosses his weapons and gear into a large well in some industrial area of Gotham. He goes home to burn the rest in his fireplace, like video tapes and receipts and any journal entries he might have. While he is doing this, cops arrive at his home to question him about the strange death in his classroom. The cops also want to ask him why he did not remain at school like the other students or call his parents. Turns out, the school already contacted his mother, and she arrives in a fluster, and gives the cops permission to search his room. Ryan's protests go unheard as they march to his room as a group and open the door. To his utter shock, Toru, the hideous insect shinigami, is waiting for him in his room. **_

_**The next person to choose is Tetsuo. In Gotham City that night, there is a jewelry exhibit taking place in downtown Gotham. There, the organizer of the event, Victoria (otherwise known as Tori), is about to give a speech when she realizes that she forgot her speech notes in the dressing room. She excuses herself to go get them. By the time she returns, there is a horrendous explosion that shakes the very earth, destroying the majority of the building. But because she was not in the main hall, she survives the explosion – albeit barely. There she meets the Joker as he is robbing the jewels from the exhibit. While he finishes his job and leaves Tori to the ravages of fire closing in on her, Tori prays and pleads with God for someone to save her. As though in answer, a black shadow like death appears through the writhing flames. But it is not a dark angel there to snuff her life, but Batman. **_

_**After a long spell of unconsciousness, Tori wakes to find that she did not fully escape the explosion. Her right leg and arm are gone, and she is covered in severe burns. As she agonizes over her injuries, restless with torturous thoughts of her boyfriend abandoning her and the long road to rehabilitation without recovery, something drops on the table beside her hospital bed. It is a Death Note. She looks through it, and learns that it is a notebook used to kill. She considers it a foolish fantasy, perhaps even a cruel joke that someone is playing on her, but she muses about using it to kill the Joker for what he's done to her, and countless other people. But because of her Christian morals – and common sense that no one's real name is Joker – she puts the book aside. Then to her horror, there is a bony shinigami standing still as stone beside her bed. After a nurse enters and forces Tori to quickly gather her wits and calm down, a small discussion ensues, with her coming to the firm decision that she will not use the Death Note, or forfeit ownership of it. That way, she thinks, this Death Note cannot be used to kill. She bids Tetsuo to get lost, and he leaves her be. **_

_**Izanami goes last. She lends her attention to a man called Paul. He is an artist and lives in the Narrows, and at the moment he is almost fanatically painting an image of his idol, the Joker. The coincidence is not lost on the three shinigami, as they note that the Joker is the same man that left the young woman Tori to die. Paul is in fact, a huge fan of the Joker, eagerly supporting him and his anarchic causes. And while he is fiercely obsessed with him, he despises Batman with equal intensity. He is not fully opposed to the idea of killing Batman, however, he knows he would never accomplish that task. He considers the Joker an artist, a genius in his own right, and Batman was always getting in his way. Izanami is deeply fascinated by Paul, and chooses him immediately. She is quick to produce the Death Note in the human world and introduce herself to him, practically giving him a heart attack in the process. Paul soon makes his hatred of Batman clear, even venturing a go at using the Death Note on him. But he does not know Batman's true identity, therefore rendering the Death Note useless. Izanami wastes no time taking advantage of his convictions, and poses to him the Eye Deal. The Eye Deal is basically an exchange that takes place between the human and the shinigami. The human gives half of his remaining lifespan to the death god in exchange for a pair of shinigami eyes, which will allow the bartering human to see his victim's real name and life span over his or her head. Paul instantly shoots the deal down, asserting that there's no way he would give up half of his lifespan just to kill Batman. So Izanami asks what he really wants from Batman. Paul thinks about it for a moment, then says that he just wants Batman to stop being Batman. **_

_**One last person to mention. Bruce Wayne is on his luxury yacht having a party. The yacht is floating offshore in Roger's Yacht Basin on the same day that Ryan tries to get rid of his evidence there. Bruce does not see much, only that the young man walks to the end of the crowded dock, dressed in all black attire on a hot summer day, and then turns around and leaves without doing anything. **_

_**Hope I touched on all the important stuff. If I missed something in the summary I'll mention it as I go along. Here is the next installment. **_

* * *

_**Chapter 10 – Reconvene**_

Gotham City

Day 1.

The Nelson residence. 

"Thank you very much for letting us look around," the male detective said after a few minutes of rummaging through my things. The female detective nodded and continued to glance around my room. I only hoped she wouldn't notice one of my posters stapled to my wall. It had way too many staples than it needed. That was because behind the poster was the Death Note. I had slipped it back there to hide it, and stapled the poster a bunch of times to keep it from tearing under the weight.

My anger from mere moments ago had disappeared completely. I must have looked like I was going to hurl because the detective frowned when our eyes met. "Are you all right?"

I swallowed nervously. It took all of my will power not to look at the _thing_ in my room. Nobody else could see it. "I'm fine."

"Are you sure?" The detective asked, turning once more to my desk, the last thing he searched. I was sure he was wondering if he was close to something and that made me nervous. Even if I wasn't officially a suspect, he was suspicious of me. That's what I got for looking the way I looked, keeping my room the way I did. My black clothes, tired face and greasy brown hair did nothing to make me look less suspicious. My wimpy body made me look like some geeky douche bag that belonged behind a computer screen all day long. I was all jittery and nervous and I looked like I had just killed someone. I mean, I had, but that was beside the point. I actually _looked _it.

"I'm sure. Are you done looking around?"

My mother came over and pressed her palm to my forehead. Either it was an attempt to show she was some sort of a good mother to these two cops or she was really upset with me. She didn't really care if I was sick. I slapped her hand away, able to get caught up in the normalcy of it. "Get off me, Mom."

The cops turned away as they shared a chuckle and they walked out of my room.

My mother turned quickly to me and said in a hushed voice, "We're going to talk about this."

"Yeah, right. I don't recall hell freezing over."

She rolled her eyes and followed quickly after the cops.

With a sigh, I shut the door after her and locked it. Bracing myself, I looked over my shoulder. The creature hovered there, insect legs folded awkwardly under it. I felt my lip curl in disgust. That was one fucking disgusting thing. It was bad enough having to look at bugs now and then. But up close? And fucking gigantic? Made my skin crawl.

"My name is Toru. I know your name. You're Ryan Nelson."

Careful not to raise my voice, I whispered, "What are you?"

He hovered more, and his wings twitched. He wasn't flying. He was just hovering, as though his body did not obey the laws of gravity. If he was using his wings to hover I was sure it would have sounded like a helicopter's blades. "I am a shinigami, or a death god." His segmented, glossy belly practically undulated when he talked. Now I really felt like I was going to puke. "Dude, you're fucking nauseating to look at."

The thing tilted its head slightly, and its antennas quivered. Its praying mantis head bobbed a little, its beastly eyes the stuff of nightmares.

I closed my eyes. "Just tell me what the fuck is happening," I said finally, when I thought I wasn't going to let fly the scant contents of my stomach.

"You picked up a Death Note. You see, I dropped a spare one into the human world by mistake. I came to get it back, but now that you've touched it, you have ownership of it. So, I can only get it back if you give up ownership."

"And Frankie dying—did you do that?"

"No. The Death Note did it. Because of you."

I sighed shakily and sank down into the chair at my desk. I swiveled around slightly, sagging down into the soft cushioned seat. "So I did kill him."

The death god nodded clumsily, its head bobbing up and down. "Yes. May I ask you something?"

All right, I needed a goddamn minute to collect my thoughts. I felt so dizzy from all this. Could all this really be happening? Was this fucking thing for real? Did I breath in some toxic fumes at those wells? Did I already do everything I planned and kill myself too? Did that explain this bizarreness? Reality couldn't possibly include things like death gods or shittygami or shorigami or whatever the _fuck_ they were called—

"I want to ask you something," the thing interrupted me.

I almost winced. "What?" I asked quietly.

"Why did you choose to kill that human?"

_Human. _Like it was a different species. Whoa. A different species of intelligent creatures. What if he was an alien? Wait, was it a he or a she? I couldn't even begin to imagine where its genitalia were, under those hideous, tattered clothes. And even if I could get a good look at it, how the hell was I supposed to tell the difference between a male and female centipede or grasshopper or whatever the fuck hybrid insectoid monstrosity it was? Not to mention I had just managed to suppress my desire to vomit, and then there it was again. I swallowed sickly. "What did you ask me?"

"I asked," it began patiently, "why did you kill that particular human? There were many all around you."

I thought back to the event, reliving the way that Frankie doubled over and moaned in pain from his

belly, a deep, wrenching moan like someone had crushed his stomach in a vise from inside. If I hadn't been in such a panic, maybe I would have enjoyed it. I was enjoying imagining him dying. It was one thing I swore never to forget. I would think about it again and again and again until it was a memory so clear in my mind it was like a movie on Blue-ray. "Because I hate him."

The thing's antennas rippled. "I see. And are there other people that you hate?"

"Of course. There are lots of people I hate. I pretty much hate everyone."

The thing nodded in a way that I decided was thoughtful.

"Why are you asking me that?"

"Oh. I was just curious about what makes a human kill."

* * *

The Shinigami Realm

Day 2.

_The clouds swirled like mist high above the three shinigami. As they sat around the blue fire, wisps of smoke wafted up in strands. It would have been peaceful setting, had Toru not been cackling at Tetsuo. Izanami sat there with her fingers pressed to her lips, smiling only slightly to show her amusement. Tetsuo, for the first time, showed a glimmer of emotion, his jaw set and his eyes glaring at Toru. _

"_Excellent choice Tetsuo!" Toru choked through his laughs. "Will you be giving me those one hundred years now or later?"_

_Izanami chuckled. Tetsuo turned to her, about to speak. She shook her head before he even took a breath. "No second turns, Tetsuo."_

_Tetsuo closed his mouth and sighed to calm himself. He could either accept defeat or whine about it. "I am willing to split my one hundred years between the two of you, since the wager has not truly begun."_

_Toru interjected quickly. "No, no. Ryan Nelson has already killed. At this moment, I am winning this wager. I want the one hundred years. Every last one."_

_Izanami glanced smoothly over to Toru. "No one will pay out years yet. The wager still stands. There are eighty-eight days left." She looked at Tetsuo. "Perhaps she will change her mind," she said, even though her tone clearly indicated she believed nothing of the sort would happen. _

"_Am I to be bound to this campfire until the wager is over?" Tetsuo asked, disheartened and ashamed at his poor choice of human. _

"_Not at all. We shall meet periodically, say every seven earth days. You are welcome to accompany your human if you wish, or leave her alone. Remember, we cannot persuade or dissuade the killing of another human." She tossed a tendril of slithering hair over her shoulder. "And one more thing. We are not to mention the wager to the humans." _


	12. Toru Score Eight

_**Chapter 11: Toru - Score Eight**_

Outskirts of Gotham City

Day 28.

"Yeah, this is Officer Paddington, off of Interstate 95 North, just outside of Gotham City. Confirm: There's a body here. Send a forensics team and someone from the coroner's office, all right? Young female, probably mid to late teens." Officer Paddington turned aside to his partner after ending his call on police car radio. "Hundred bucks she's from Gotham High."

His partner chuckled. "I ain't taking that bet."

"Why not? What are the odds of that anyway?"

Paddington's partner looked into the watery ditch. The girl lay naked and facedown, her hair floating like seaweed on the surface of muddy sludge. "After seven deaths at the school? I'd say the odds are pretty fucking good."

* * *

Gotham City

Day 29.

The Nelson Residence - Ryan's room.

"Bitch number eight is _dooooown_!" I drawled in a low voice and scribbled over her face in my eleventh grade year book. "Suck on this, _Mandy_! My dick would have been nicer, don't you think?"

"Do you have anymore apples?" Toru asked me with his insect mouth full of apple pulp.

I turned to him in astonishment. "You ate all of them already?" I demanded. But I was in too good a mood. "Mom!" I yelled out my door. "I want more apples!"

"Good! You can do the shopping while you're there!"

I groaned and slammed the door. "Just give me a reason, just one reason not to do it," I muttered to myself.

"Do what?" Toru asked and belched.

"Kill my mother. Hey, do you have a mother?"

"I don't think so. But if all mothers are like yours I wouldn't want one."

I shrugged and fell back on my bed. I turned to the TV in my room and listened to the evening news, anchors rambling on about the circumstances of Mandy's death. She had been raped and then killed. Boo-fucking-hoo. As soon as someone dies everyone acts like they were pure white angels sent by God. But I knew the truth. I knew what they really were. Little snotty bitches who thought only about themselves. Little fucking bitches who thought they were better than everyone else because they were pretty and rich.

_Hey Mandy, uh. Uh. Um…_

_Are you trying to ask me out, Ryan?_

I love the way she says my name. _Yeah. Yeah, I am. I am._

_Hahaha! As if! _

Hahaha. As if. As if life revolved around her. Well, it didn't anymore you stupid cunt. Should have been nice to me. This wouldn't have happened if you had been nice to me.

"Who are you going to kill now?"

"Shh."

I was actually paying attention to the news. Sure, it had been the usual droning on about how active Mandy was as a cheerleader and a Debonette at her school, how she'd served the community with all her meaningful hours of volunteer work, blah, blah, blah. But what bothered me for the first time was that Gotham City Police Department, unknown to the general public, had been working with the New York State Bureau of Investigation since the third death of one of Gotham High School's students. _Oh wow._

Okay, maybe it was time to start being a little bit more careful. Eight people at the same school found dead in about twenty days. I had to cool that shit for a while, what was I thinking?

But hell, there was no evidence! I could kill everyone in the whole school and no one would even know it was me. And even if they did, so what? They wouldn't find a fingerprint. They wouldn't even find a napkin with my spit on it at the scene. Yeah, but if they found the Death Note in my room…that would be a problem.

I still kept the thing hidden behind the poster in my room, the one with extra staples so the book wouldn't fall out. It was pretty thin. And so far I'd made sure all the killings—no, not killings, deaths—had been as different as I could make them. It had been pretty fun too, trying to figure out what was the best way for someone to die. I mean, Frankie Pierce was just an experiment. And I'd freaked out afterwards, that wasn't really awesome, but anyway, the cops came and went and they never came back again. They just figured I was some kid who freaked out when someone died in class and just ran out in a panic. No big deal. Except I didn't like anyone to think of me like that. But the others, I had to do a little research. Like Jude, for example, was a heavy drinker. He wasn't allowed to buy alcohol since he was still a minor, but he knew when a liquor store near his house would be getting its deliveries. So on Wednesday of every week, he would go to the back of the store and pay the delivery guy twenty bucks to help him steal one whole case of beer. Pretty good deal, right? Anyway, it was all set up for me. He was going to screw himself over sooner or later. All I did was help it along by writing his name in one little book that let me describe the way he would die. So one day, he did just that, and drank himself to death.

And then there was Aiden, that motherfucker who put puke in my locker. To this day I don't know where he got it from and how he got it into my locker, but there it was. Rancid shit all over my textbooks and my brand new sneakers. I couldn't get the smell out for a month, and I had to walk around with textbooks warped from moisture. Even though I washed everything in laundry detergent it still smelled anyway. He started calling me Vomit after that—real original—and never stopped. Well, never stopped until I took care of him. I'd heard stories about him, about things at home. The worst I'd heard was that his dad beat him one time with a brick. A brick! What the fuck. Anyway, Aiden was out of school for two weeks—and when he showed up he was showing off his stitches like some war hero. What a loser. Anyway, the next time his dad beat him up, he died from it. He aspirated his own blood and that's what killed him. Anyway, that was the coroner's report. The interesting part was that his dad got arrested for second degree murder. And his genius defense? "I'd hit him harder before and he didn't die."

Yeah, it was fun. It was fun doing that research. It was fun checking out my mark for weaknesses. I was like an assassin. Hell yeah. But now, it was time to cool down a bit. There was no way anyone would tie this stuff to me, I knew it. But still. Just for now. Take a breather. I'd done a lot of work. It was time to relax.


	13. Is He Still Out There?

_**Author's Note: To the anonymous reviewer who identified himself (or herself) only as 'Robin' said that the section with Bruce Wayne (in Chapter 6, entitled Roger's Yacht Basin) was awkward: It certainly was. I gave that section a much-needed rewrite. Nevertheless, I don't agree with your reason for why the section felt awkward. Batman is a detective. He **_**will**_** set the scene to organize and analyze details that don't fit. And he's a complex person. Not a cardboard cutout brooding about justice all day long. Batman is not a philosopher, he's a pragmatist. If all he did was brood about things, Batman wouldn't exist. The reason that part was awkward was simply because I didn't have a hold on his personality yet. Three years since then, I think I've got the hang of it. **_

_**For a more extended and accurate depiction of the Batman/Bruce Wayne POV, I suggest you read Silent Hill: The Bat. It's a Batman and Silent Hill crossover. Duh. **_

_**This story's rating had changed from Rated-T to Rated-M. **_

* * *

_**Chapter 12 – Is He Still Out There?**_

Gotham City

Day 29

The Gordon Residence

Gotham City Police Commissioner Jim Gordon thought about the days he stood guard over the Bat Signal. It was a call, a summon. Sometimes the Batman would answer. Sometimes he wouldn't. But even when he didn't, Gordon knew he was out there, somewhere, doing what needed to be done, putting himself on the line for the sake of Gotham. Gordon thought about he would watch the circular beacon in the sky, moving like a second moon, but larger, gleaming like a shield emblazoned with a stylized bat, sweeping over the clouds and smog like a great big monster.

It had been a reminder to the citizens of Gotham that there was someone to protect them. This Protector was silent, swift and terrorized the terrorists. Gordon had seen the power Batman wielded with his secretive ways. Violent crime rates had fallen dramatically. The Mob was afraid. Criminals, drug dealers, pimps, murderers, anyone who once embraced the shadows, had stayed clear of them, not wanting to run into _him_.

Gordon remembered those days with wistfulness. No one felt the low morale of the Gotham City PD as much as he did. Because he knew the truth. He knew the truth about men, about how good, honest people like the District Attorney Harvey Dent, pushed far enough, could be corrupted and deformed into something no one ever thought they could become.

Gordon lay awake in bed beside his wife, Barbara. He couldn't sleep again. He'd never had so many sleepless nights in his life. He knew exactly why that was, of course. _But he didn't do anything wrong,_ his son Jimmy had said. Gordon wished he could have told his son the whole, sticky, messy truth. Sometimes what was wrong according to the secular law was right according to moral law. Was Batman wrong for not taking off the mask under the Joker's threats? Was DA Harvey Dent wrong for lying to the Press, claiming to be Batman when he wasn't? Or was it right that Batman was now hunted by the Gotham PD, even though he successfully captured the most dangerous terrorist known to Gotham City since Scarecrow? Was it wrong that Batman let people die? Or was it forgivable because he saved hundreds of others?

Gordon was sick of his own thoughts. Every night it was the same thing. Then he would get up, like he was just doing, kicking off the covers and slipping on a pair of loafers, walk to the porch and just stand there, hoping that Batman would show up like old times. It was hard to believe it hadn't even been a year since the Joker.

Gordon's eyes went up reflexive to the sky. Even after all these months, even though he himself took a fire axe to the Bat Signal and destroyed it, he expected to see the big round light up in the sky. He wondered how many other people in Gotham City couldn't sleep. How many others, just like him, wished things could go back the way they were, but knew they never would.

But he did know how many others knew the real truth. Just one other, really, and he was out there somewhere, unmasked, perhaps sleeping, perhaps suffering from insomnia. Perhaps he too was looking for a way to bring the Batman back into the good graces of Gotham citizens.

Gordon was surprised by his son's voice behind him. "Is he there, Dad?"

He turned and ruffled his boy's blond hair. Then he pulled him close, thanking God silently for not taking him away from him. Thanking God for Batman. "No, he's not here."

"Why's he always hiding?"

Gordon walked his boy to the porch steps and they sat down together. "I don't know."

After a while, Jimmy asked seriously, "Dad, is he a coward?"

Gordon's head whipped around to look at his son in surprise. "Who told you that?"

Jimmy shrugged. "Kids at school."

Gordon relaxed a little. "Oh. Those kids don't know as much about him as you do. Do they?" Gordon asked, his eyebrows raising up suspiciously. "You haven't told them anything, have you?"

Jimmy shook his head. "No."

"You don't believe them, do you?"

Jimmy sighed. "I don't know what to believe anymore," he replied in such a fair imitation of Barbara that Gordon almost chuckled.

"You know the truth, son. That's all there is to it."

Jimmy looked up at Gordon then averted his gaze. He looked up at the sky as if looking for the Bat Signal, then down at his feet. He leaned over his knees and rubbed the tops of his frog-faced house slippers. "Sometimes I'm scared."

Gordon patted his son's back. "We all get scared."

"No, I mean…I mean…" Jimmy struggled to find the words to explain what he meant. "It's not a good kind of scared."

"Are there bad kinds of scared?"

"Yeah, like being a coward. That's a bad kind of scared, right?"

Gordon frowned. He felt distracted by the complexity of his young son's thoughts. He felt so proud of him but the words also disturbed him. Should a kid really be thinking about this sort of stuff? "I suppose being a coward is a bad, selfish kind of scared, yes."

Jimmy sighed again, nodding as if Gordon had given him confirmation of what he feared. "I think I'm that kind of scared. The bad kind."

"What are you scared of?"

Jimmy was silent for so long that Gordon thought Jimmy had already closed up about it. Then his son said four words that chilled even Gordon. "I'm scared they're right."

* * *

Gotham City

Day 30

Gotham City PD – Major Crimes Unit (MCU)

The young woman sat there, looking incensed. "How many times do I have to fucking tell you morons that the Batman saved me?" She screamed. Her wheelchair jerked on the spot. Her purse dropped from her armrest to the floor. "I don't care if there's no evidence of it! What do you think, I walked outta there?" There was a caustic bitterness in her voice that even Gordon felt he could taste it in his mouth like bile. She gestured to her missing leg with her one remaining arm. Though she had suffered horrendous injuries one month ago, it was not hard to see the toll her injuries had taken. Her head was deformed on the surface, her ear was gone and she was starting to remind an very uneasy Gordon of Harvey Dent.

"All right, Miss Taylor," Gordon said as calmly as he could. How old was this girl? Twenty-three? Twenty-four? She couldn't have been more than few years older than his teenaged daugher, Babs. "We don't want you to get worked up."

She slapped the arm of her wheelchair. "Then you shouldn't have called me here, one day after being discharged from the hospital to go over and over what happened just so you can sit there and tell me it didn't happen the way it did!"

Gordon thought his attempts to calm her down made her worse. Her face began to get red, almost as red as the edge of still-healing burned tissue he could see under some of the bandages. She buried her face in her hand and her shoulders started shaking.

Gordon grimaced and looked over at homicide detective, Renée Montoya. She was standing with her arms folded over her chest. Just moments ago she had been unimpressed with Miss Taylor's outburst. But now, even she was feeling pretty low. She picked up a box of Kleenex and offered it to her. Miss Taylor didn't take. Then Montoya hesitantly tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear and touched Miss Taylor's shoulder.

She jerked away. "Don't touch me, you bitch."

Montoya pulled away. Then she knelt down beside Miss Taylor's wheelchair to pick up her purse from where it had fallen. Miss Taylor kicked out her leg to stop her. "Leave it."

"I can get it for you."

"I can get it myself."

Harvey Bullock, Montoya's partner, was the reason for Miss Taylor's present disposition. He'd gone too far when he insisted that Batman was gone for good, and sightings of him these days were like sightings of UFOs. A few people here at MCU didn't like hearing it. Gordon, for one. And Montoya was another. And Miss Taylor, well, she was just one of the few people out of Gotham City who definitely _despised_ hearing it. Bullock issued a drawn out sigh, clearly regretting it. He removed his fedora and rubbed his greasy black hair. Then he abruptly muttered, "Youse can finish in here, right?" before walking out.

Gordon and Montoya watched agonizingly as Miss Taylor maneuvered the motorized wheelchair to a position where she could pick up her purse without getting out of the chair. The corner of a black notebook slipped out slightly. She tucked it back in and put her purse on the chair, under her leg.

Then she did a weird thing that made both Gordon and Montoya very uncomfortable. She started rubbing her hand in midair, where her other knee should have been. "There are always sightings of Batman," she said, quite unaware of herself. "There are videos on YouTube. I've even seen GCN broadcast some of those videos. And there are photos published in the Gotham Gazette. That's a distinguished paper. Not some lousy tabloid."

"There's no way to verify if these photographs or videos are real," Montoya said gently. "Even if we want them to be."

Miss Taylor looked down at herself as she continued to rub her nonexistent leg. "I feel like it's still there," she remarked. "Does that make you uncomfortable?"

Montoya, bless her, smiled and shook her head.

Miss Taylor sniffed and gave a lopsided smile. "It made my boyfriend uncomfortable," she said quietly.

Gordon and Montoya exchanged glances, the past tense of Miss Taylor's sentence not lost on them.

"You believe me, don't you?" Miss Taylor asked suddenly, almost plaintive. "Commissioner, I know you've seen the Batman with your own eyes. He's a real man, flesh and blood."

Gordon conceded with a nod.

"Do you really believe he's gone?"

Gordon was reminded of his son's words from the night before. He shook his head. "No."

"Then why won't you try to find him? Contact him?"

"Because if I contact him, I have to arrest him. He's responsible for the deaths of five people. One civilian, Judge Surillo, Commissioner Loeb, and two police officers."

"He didn't kill them."

"Yes, but he's the reason they're dead."

Miss Taylor shook her head. "You people are pathetic. You use him then you turn on him."

"I understand your frustration—"

"No you don't. How can you sit there and—"

"Miss Taylor!" Gordon snapped suddenly. She looked as surprised as Montoya. He took a breath to calm himself. "Miss Taylor, believe me when I tell you that I understand. I'm speaking as a man, as a father. As a citizen of Gotham. I understand."

Miss Taylor studied him for a long, long time. Then she looked down at her police statement. "Once I sign this, it goes on record, right?"

Gordon nodded. "Every word."

Miss Taylor took the statement and underlined the word Batman. "I want people to know. I want them to know he's not a murderer. He's a savior."

She handed the pen and statement to Montoya and started to leave. "I have a question. Off the record. Do you know what the Joker's real name is?"

As Gordon stood up to hold the door open for her, he replied, "No. We released an official statement to the Press admitting that we didn't know his name. Why?"

Miss Taylor then suddenly looked past Gordon's head and into an empty space in the room. He followed her gaze, as did Montoya. Then her eyes came back to him. "He left me to die. I want him to pay. I want justice."

Gordon put out his hands helplessly. "He's been deemed mentally unfit to stand trial by three independent psychiatrists. Even if the death penalty was an available option in our state, he wouldn't receive it because he's mentally ill."

"So he just gets away with it?"

"He's being detained at Arkham Asylum."

"I know." Miss Taylor shook her head. "But that's not good enough."

* * *

_**Author's Note: Though I mentioned a couple of first-responding detectives, Burns and Jamison, in earlier chapters, in this one I officially introduced Renée Montoya and her partner Harvey Bullock. They aren't characters from the Nolanverse, but from the Batman The Animated Series. A bit of trivia: Anna Ramirez from the Dark Knight franchise is partially based on Renée Montoya. But since she was a crooked cop who was probably fired from the GCPD, and I needed a familiar character to sort of flesh out in the place of a good homicide detective, I decided to go with Montoya anyway. **_

_**If you see any errors with Nolanverse or Death Note continuity, please let me know. If you feel like anything could use improvement or changes, let me know. **_

_**Also one more thing. If you started reading this story after December 30th then disregard the following note. **_

_**If you started reading the story before, please note that I made a few minor changes to the story. **_

_**One: The Joker acts alone in blowing up the Jewelry Exhibit.**_

_**Two: Since this film is post-TDK, the Batman is virtually missing in action, though occasional rumored sightings have surfaced in the months following TDK. The Joker too, has been MIA, except of course when he blows up the exhibit hall in downtown Gotham, resulting in Tori Taylor's injuries. **_


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